Return to Brooklyn
by WordyAF
Summary: Extra scenes and background info on my character's and my version of the newsboys as seen in my longer works All Through the Night (previously called Ants and Giants) and My Perfect Disaster. Intersects with Joker is Poker with a J's Benjamin Hotel series. Includes JoAnna and Trout's return to New York for Racetrack's wedding, how Marta and Fletcher met and little newsies!
1. Chapter 1

Welcome to **Return to Brooklyn.** Joker is Poker with a J and I have been joking that with all of our extra materials that we've written that didn't exactly fit into the parameters of the plot for her Benjamin Hotel series and my Brooklynite saga, we basically have the beginnings of a Newsie-style Pottermore. She started the Benjamin Hotel Chronicles for her extras and I've gotten enough interest (please, all I needed was one, non-Joker person...I don't need a lot of encouragement on these things, but lots of applause. Wordy likes applause) to put mine here in Return to Brooklyn. Some of the chapters will be short, while other bits will be multi-part. So if you see chapters with the same title and then a number, they go together. I just wanted everything together in one place instead of posting a bunch of one-three shots, mainly because I didn't want to try to think up that many non-derpy titles for them all...here, my inability to think of good titles is hidden under this umbrella. So, I will start posting under this pretty soon, just doing a last little grammar check on a few things, but had the alone time to go through the whole story in processing rigamaroll and took it. Happy reading, Fansies!


	2. The Wild Boy from Queens

The screams of a child travelled through the hallways of the tenement building and out into the streets of Queens. The adults were all used to the sound and had stopped muttering under their breath about how their child would never be so naughty as to scream like that or that children should be seen and not heard. The neighbors couldn't blame the Coopers, it wasn't their fault that their middle child was dumb as a post, couldn't speak an intelligent word in any language and was prone to screaming fits. They pitied the large family that lived in the two bedroom apartment on the fifth floor, but couldn't understand why they didn't send the boy to a institution where they were more equipped to handle a child like him, a child with problems.

The neighbors referred to this daily fit as the after school special. It came every day within an hour of the school children arriving back at the tenement. Eliot's older brother, Jonah and two older sisters, Grace and Lorraine arrived home from school, put away their books and quickly did their afternoon chores before going outside to play. Every day he grabbed Lori and Jonah's hands and pleaded with them in the only language he knew to take him with them. He wanted to play stickball and marbles and run footraces on the sidewalks with the other primer boys. "Jo-jo!" he pleaded with his brother. He slapped his chest and pointed to the door, "My gah? Jo-jo, my gah?"

"No, El, you can't go and you know it. Mama's worried that someone will call the bulls on you ever since you clocked Jimmy Garrison so hard that his eyes went back to being crossed for a few days. Stay here with Mama." Jonah ruffled his hair and tried to step around him, taking 5 year old Harvey by the hand to go with him.

Eliot whined, his wild mop of dark curls that he wouldn't let his mother cut falling in his face. He pounded his chest again, his blue eyes flashing with anger. "My gah!" he demanded.

"Eliot, I been telling you for weeks, Mama said you can't come anymore," Jonah answered exasperatedly, sending Harvey with the girls. Harvey glowered at his older brother, tired of the seven year old making these scenes everyday, taking away fun from the rest of them. Jonah saw the imminent eruption boiling in Eliot's eyes and looked nervously towards the kitchen. He knew better than just about anyone, that in his head, Eliot was just as smart as the rest of them, maybe smarter, but they hadn't figured out a way to let him talk beyond his guttural, grunting baby language. He wanted to take his brother, but the other boys were so cruel to him. Joe knew he'd spend more time fending them off Eliot and then keeping Eliot from unleashing all of the anger that was pent up inside of him on them than he would enjoying himself in any way. "Mama, you sure we can't give El one more chance? I won't let him hurt no one, and after last time they wont talk so mean when he's standing right there."

Larissa Cooper left the kitchen a newborn pressed against one shoulder and a toddler on the opposite hip and looked exhaustedly at her twelve and seven year sons, her eyes lingering a bit longer on Eliot who was dancing on his toes in anticipation. She hated doing it, but they couldn't risk another incident like the one with Jimmy Garrison. She and Ira had only just convinced the Garrison's not to call the police on their wild boy, as he was known in the neighborhood. "I'm sorry, Darling," she answered, hoisting two year old Marlene up on her hip, "but you know I can't let you. You have to show Papa and I that you can control yourself. I know you don't have words to tell the others off, but you can't just use your fists." Eliot stopped his dance and glared at her, his chest heaving angrily. "I know its not," she continued and patted the baby's back as he began to fuss. "Until we get you talking, you have to stay with me and Marlene. I can't trust you out there; you've shown me that too many times."

"Mama, I have a cookie?" little Marlene asked sweetly. "Pwease?"

Eliot's face went red as he screamed a tirade of babble at her and she winced, not at the volume nor the anger, but at the realization that Marlene had already surpassed her older brother's verbal skills. She, at two and a half, could say more understandable words than Eliot could at seven, and he saw her horror at the thought. He saw it and understood the small flick of his mother's blue eyes between his sister and himself. All of his anger melted away and was replaced with despair and he crumpled into a heap on the floor, wailing in a way that gutted her. She gave Jonah a weary wave to send him outside and left Eliot, wailing and screaming on the main room floor. Like every day, he cried himself to exhaustion and fell asleep there on the floor, awarding his poor mother a few moments of peace to sew buttons and trim onto the finish work that was sent over from the sewing factories for her to do. Work couldn't stop just because Eliot was having yet another difficult day, there were eight mouths to feed and the babies to watch. The family had gotten used to working through the screaming.

The doctors they'd seen never had any solutions for them, just recommendations for nice homes and hospitals for children like him, where he would be comfortably locked away from the rest of the world. She wiped away a tear at the thought of sending him away, of him growing up away from her sight and care. She wished there were other options, options that didn't cost more than they made in a year. A woman in the next building over had a daughter at a school for the deaf and Larissa had written them, hoping that they could teach Eliot the finger spelling the woman told her that her daughter used to talk to her friends, but the school turned her away, saying that they had deaf children awaiting a spot, they couldn't give one to a boy who could hear. That was after she watched him hover around Lorraine when she was learning to read at school, fascinated by words that he could use, printed on a page, that didn't have to go through his quicksand filled mouth. She tried to teach him to read with Lorraine's books, but only able to read just enough to make do herself, she was easily frustrated. She didn't know how to break it down without him sounding out words aloud. The weeks after than were darker than most. Having words offered to him and then yanked out of his grasp made him even more hostile.

The whole family was precariously near to the end of their ropes. They could only understand his most used gibberish like words that he made up. Jonah and Lori understood more than the others and acted as his interpreters and protectors as often as they could, but Jonah would be sent out to work and help the family soon and he wouldn't be around as much and Lori tended to talk for him. His parents wanted him to learn to speak for himself. The other children in the neighborhood were too cruel to keep their mouths shut, and Eliot's rage was too strong for him to control.

Larissa finished the shirt she was working on and peaked out into the big room. Her heart stopped and then began slamming against her ribs when she saw a clean rug, with no sign of sleeping child. "Eliot?" she called meekly. "Eliot, don't hide from me, you know I don't like it." She ran through the apartment opening closets and cupboards before running into the hallway to bang on the neighbor's door. "Helen! Helen!" she cried. "Watch the babies! Eliot's gotten outside!" She didn't wait for Helen to answer, just took off running down the six flights of stairs, her serviceable brown skirt held up. As soon as she hit the outside air, she heard the chants of the neighborhood children. "Fight! Fight! Fight!"

Jonah's voice stuck out as he yelled at his siblings for help. "Eliot, stop! He didn't mean it! You're gonna get taken away! Get outta there! Lorraine, hold Harvey back! Eliot! Stop!"

She ran towards the crowd of small bodies and pushed her way through, grabbing Eliot by his collar and hauling him up off of the other boy. His fists swung wildly, connecting with her cheek. She gasped and accidentally dropped him. He yelped as he hit the ground, but jumped to his feet, gripping onto her waist, his bright eyes wide with fear and remorse. "Mah!" he cried. "Mah!"

"I know you're sorry," she groaned caressing the swelling skin on her cheek, tears welling in her eyes, "but I can't do this anymore. Get upstairs and sit on your bed till your father comes home. You can't do this to us anymore Eliot."

That night, while Harvey and Jonah slept beside him in the trundle bed and the girls slept soundly just above them in the double bed, Eliot lay awake listening to his mother cry. Ira Cooper was a patient, gentle man, but he and his wife were stretched well beyond their limits. No one would help them and Eliot was too smart to be kept isolated from the world in and apartment with his mother and baby siblings. There weren't any better options, but they couldn't keep torturing themselves and the other five kids. They decided that the next morning, Larissa would take the ferry with Eliot to the Idiot Asylum on Randall's Island where they would sign him over. The sound of his mother's sobs covered the sound of him leaving the bed and pulling his clothes and boots on. He wasn't going to let them lock him up. If they were getting rid of him then he would run, at least then he'd have some say in things. Jonah sat up as he shoved the window open, "Eliot, what're you doing?" he whispered, his voice confused and concerned.

"Gah," he answered, pointing out the window.

"Going where?"

Eliot shrugged. "Gah."

Jonah nodded, understanding what was going on. "Ok, but don't talk to no one. Its better if they think you can't talk at all. Your talk makes them think you're dumb and you're not. You talk with your hands, with your face, draw them a picture if you have to, just don't talk to no one you don't know, ok?" Eliot nodded and began to climb out the window. "That's it? You're not going to say good bye to me or nothing?" Eliot blushed, one leg out the window and one in, straddling the window frame and shook his head. He couldn't say good bye. He'd cry and climb back in bed to snuggle up to Jonah and then he'd have no way to get away. It was now or never. He ran down the fire escape and started running toward the river and toward the far away, tiny lights on the big bridge. In the dark it was the only way he knew to find his way, the bridge was the opposite direction from the island. He had to get away from Queens and Randall's Island, that was all that mattered.

 _A/N: So, this was originally the first chapter of a fic that I took down because it had no plot. It was all about Spot and Race and Trout when they were little boys, pre-strike. Trout's family is going to be featured during the actual Return to Brooklyn Chapter, so I thought I'd start with this so that you know where the guy who doesn't say much aloud, but has been yammering non-stop in my head since last July came from._


	3. Kisser and Scat

Eliot waited in an alleyway just outside the distribution office, where he waited everyday until the bigger newsies cleared out, so no one would see him. He peered around the corner and into the gated area, searching for Spot's small form in the line. He saw Kisser and Scat, the two leaders in Spot's boarding house. Spot pointed them out the first day the two boys met. Spot looked at Kisser, with her long thick braid of wild curls the color of cinnamon sticks the way that Eliot had always looked at his mother until that last day. It was a look of admiration and pride. His eyes met with Kisser's before he could duck away again, and he shoved his back against the alley wall. When he peered back around, he couldn't see her anymore. He took off running for the other end of the alley, his panicked breath coming out as smoke in the cold morning air. Hands clapped around his elbow, swinging him off balance as he ran, throwing both himself and his captor to the cobblestones. "Trout!" Spot's voice cried, muffled by his own coat that somehow flew over his face. "Stop running, ya dummy!" It was the exact wrong thing to say. Eliot was straddling the smaller boy, throwing punches and slaps as hard as he could in a flash. Spot covered his face with his arms to try to protect himself from his new friend's onslaught.

Arms snaked around his, holding them tight to his sides while he struggled. "Shhhhhhh," a kind voice said in his ear, pulling his back to their body and sitting down on the ground. "He didn't mean it." Her voice was soft, quiet and low. "He says stupid stuff sometimes, but he doesn't mean any harm by it. He's your friend. You're his only friend. You don't want to hurt him." Something about her warm arms, her calm heartbeat thumping steadily just behind his racing one and that soft voice in his ear quieted all the fight in him and he crumpled back against her. Hot tears welled up in his eyes and began spilling down his cheeks before he could stop them and the heavy, wracking sobs followed. He hid his face in her shoulder and just cried. He cried because his parents gave up on him, because he was just so angry, because he was lonely and hungry and tired. He cried because his big toe was too big for his boots now and it hurt. She smoothed his hair back and rocked him gently, never loosening her grip on him until he was finished. "There now," she said when he was calm, craning her neck to get a better look at his face. "You must be Trout." Her smile was wide and bright and her hazel eyes sparkled playfully. "I'm Kisser and I'm glad to meet you! I was starting to think Spot here was losing his marbles, since he kept telling us about his pal, Trout, but none of us ever caught a glimpse at you." He stared back at her blankly. She cocked an eyebrow at him and searched his face, pursing her lips when he refused to react. "Don't you pull that business with me," she scolded, her mouth going into a frown. Her eyes gave her away though, still twinkling away merrily. "I know you that you can hear just fine, maybe even better than most, since you caught his sneaky ass. It takes a sharp set of ears to hear him. He's like a cat, my Spot is." Her voice rang with pride and Spot, who was now standing a few steps away, puffed his narrow chest out and smirked.

 _It was true, when they first met two weeks before, he heard Spot making his way stealthily down a fire escape. He lost count of how long he was alone, but it was maybe two or three weeks of stealing and sleeping in alleyways. A steady rain had fallen over all of the boroughs of New York City for two days. He found an alley that was full of boxes, crates and other debris and thought he could make himself a little shelter, but he was so wet and cold and hungry that he just hunkered down and curled up among the crates and tried not to think about how he'd be fed and dry if he'd gone with his mother. He heard the shuffle up above him almost immediately and looked up warily to see a boy smaller than his younger brother, Harvey, swinging his leg over the edge of the roof and scaling down the fire escape. He stopped a few stories down and their eyes met. His glowed out of his face eerily. Eliot glared up at him, because Eliot didn't want anyone thinking they could get close to him. The boy with the frightening eyes cocked his head to the side for a moment and pulled the collar of his coat up against the rain. "Whatcha sittin' in the rain foah?" he called down in a harsh, grating accent. It was similar to how Jonah talked, but clipped and hurried. He shrugged his shoulders and wished he could melt into the bricks behind his back. The small boy, whose voice sounded much older and surlier than his body looked, called out again, "Ain'tcha got no wheres to go?" Eliot shrugged his shoulders and shook his head. The boy climbed down the fire escape easily, even though he didn't weigh enough to trigger the counterbalance on the bottom ladder and strutted up to him, spitting into his palm and holding it out with a confident smirk. "Name's Spot Conlon. If you gots a nickel, I can get you a bed outta da rain." Eliot shook his head and turned his body away from Spot. "Did you hear me come down da ladder?" Eliot looked back up into the other boy's silvery blue eyes and nodded. Spot scowled for a moment, but then his face broke into a lopsided grin. "You's good, ain't no one hears me coming usually. You got a name?" He opened his mouth, ready to introduce himself and then tell the kid to buzz off, but then snapped it closed remembering Jonah's warning. He'd never tried to say his name before, someone else always said it for him. For a moment he considered trying and opened his mouth again, but decided to heed Jonah and quickly closed it. "Whassamattah? Cat gotcha tongue?" Spot asked. "You look like a trout outta wattah opening and closing your trap like that."_

Kisser hooked her finger under his chin and pulled his attention back to her. "But, sometimes he doesn't think before he opens his mouth." There was a touch of venom behind her words and both boys cringed from it. She pushed the dirty strings of hair away from Eliot's face and stared into his eyes. "Its going to be too cold to hunker down in alleyways soon. You need a roof over your head and a coat. I know you've been sleeping rough and selling with Spot," Trout looked up at Spot and glowered, and Kisser laughed. "Don't be too sore at him, its his job to make sure I know everything that goes on in Brooklyn, and he does a damn fine job of it. You've been selling papes, so you have at least a little money, right? Its time to come in out of the cold, Trout." He ducked his head and shook it. "Please, give us a shot?"

Before he could answer a strained voice called out from the street, "Kisser! Spot! I ain't the damn distribution wagon! Come get your own papes and carry them yourselves! You know what Kirk said to me when I ordered two hundred and fifty papes?!"

She looked down and him, rolled her eyes and winked at him, before pushing him up onto his feet and standing up herself. She brushed her trousers off and pulled her braid over her shoulder before popping her hip out to the side and arching one of her eyebrows. "Scat, if you whine anymore I'm gonna change your diaper and find you a tit to suckle, ya big baby. You're a big strong guy, surely you can handle a few papes on your own."

He sauntered down the alley, a wide grin on his broad, handsome face and hooked a finger in the collar of her shirt, peaking down it rakishly. "I'm very picky about tits, ya know."

She scoffed and smacked his hand away, "Get off, Creep!"

"Gladly," Scat smirked like a naughty little boy. "You find us a place without no peaking eyeballs, and I'll get off just fine." She made a disgusted face and pushed his shoulder, but blushed just the same and looked up at him adoringly. Spot caught Eliot's attention, crossed his eyes and grabbed his neck like he was choking. Eliot couldn't help but chuckle. Kisser grinned at the two of them while Scat began to divvy up the large stack of papers he had over his left shoulder. "And two hundred and fifty ain't no 'few papes!"' He handed Spot his share of the papers. "You sure you can sell seventy, Spot?" he asked, his brow furrowing with concern. "Thats a lotta papes to sell before the afternoon edition hits." Spot took his papers and quickly flipped through them, handing thirty five of them to Eliot.

"Half of 'em belongs to Trout. He gave me his money yesterday." Kisser beamed at the two of them while Scat looked Eliot up and down.

"Scatter, this is the elusive Trout Spot's told us so much about," Kisser announced, smiling at him while accepting her stack of eighty papers. "It turns out he's not imaginary, after all." Eliot looked at Spot questioningly, but Spot just scowled at Kisser and Scat.

"Well, well, well. Good to know that our little boidy ain't going cuckoo on us," he answered, grinning a grin like a carved pumpkin and pushing his dark hair off of his forehead. "Please ta meet ya, Trout." He stuck his big hand out to Eliot, and Eliot eyed it warily. "It's a hand, not a shark," Scat teased when the boy wouldn't step forward. Kisser rolled her eyes again and swatted Scat's arm. "I guess we'll try shaking again later. You kids go sell your papes, give me a moment with my girl. We'll see you back here this afternoon."

"And back at the lodging house tonight, right Trout?" Kisser pressed, her eyebrow raised. The smile was gone and in the place of the twinkle was a steady gaze that made him want to curl up into the smallest ball possible and disappear.

Spot stood on his tiptoes to whisper in Eliot's ear, "She's makin' one of her faces. You don't wanna cross her when she makes one of her faces." Eliot looked back at Kisser, furrowing his brow. He wasn't ready to trust them. Seven years of trusting his family to take care of him hadn't made them any less ready to turn him over to the asylum when he made too many mistakes. But Scat and Kiss were just kids, not grownups, even if they did talk and act sort of like adults and the only person who cared about him before was a bigger kid. He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck a few times before giving her a single resolute nod.

She grinned. "Good, we'll dig you up a coat and hat when we get there tonight. Maybe we can even convince Noakes that dirt like you've picked up needs hot water. Now, shoo!"

The two younger boys sauntered away with their papers tucked under their arms as Scat and Kisser started making out in the alleyway. Eliot turned around and watched them for a minute, scrunching his nose. "Don't let the pretty smile fool ya, she's the one who knocked Scat's tooth out," Spot said. "Come on, Trout. Lets get rid of these, Kiss wants me to follow a couple of the older guys later." Eliot stopped in his tracks and took a deep breath. He was Trout now, not Eliot Cooper from Queens. Trout, whose address was 61 Poplar St, Brooklyn, New York.

 _A/N: Another scene that was posted before in something I took down. After this I will start posting new stuff!_


	4. Return to New York part 1

_A/N: this chapter won't make much sense if you don't read the 2 part epilogue of My Perfect Disaster. So go read that if you haven't. Go read the whole thing and review the chapters if you haven't...ok, i'll stop now. Back to the happy family sleeping blissfully in the Benjamin Hotel._

The banging on the door pulled Eli from a deep sleep and he grumbled something that even he didn't understand, but his own voice coming out without his permission woke him up enough to open his eyes. Jo squirmed in her sleep and pulled Rosie more tightly into the curve of her body. The little girl's hand was still wrapped in her new mother's skirt, clinging for dear life, her other hand fisted in his sleeve. For a moment he forgot about the rude awakening, and just looked at his little family, sound asleep and huddled together. They hadn't meant to fall asleep in her bed, but the new parents were just so enamored with Rosie that they must have done, laying there watching her sleep, the question of her future finally not hanging over everyone's head like a storm cloud. He smiled at them, his girls, and gently pried five tiny fingers off of his shirt sleeve, making her whimper softly. The banging was still strong and steady, and now that he was a little more awake, he could hear obnoxious singing and his name being called in between verses. Rubbing his sticky, sleep filled eyes, he stumbled out to the main room of the suite and turned on a lamp before peering out the peephole of the door. The sight through the tiny window was so puzzling that, after setting his jaw, annoyed at being woken up, he had to open the door.

Carlos Fuentes, drunk off his ass, relying on the door frame to hold him up as he sang to himself in Spanish. "Sana sana, colito de rana...Eli! Amigo, lemme in!" Eli sighed, grumbling in annoyance, but knew he owed Carlos the favor after the way he left the city the previous spring, so he pulled the door open and set Carlos with a glare.

"'Los...wh-what..." he was tired, he was disoriented, him mouth didn't want to cooperate.

"Eli, old friend!" He boomed out loudly. People in other rooms were starting to stir and call out. Eli rolled his eyes and slapped a big paw over Carlos's mouth and the other at the back of his neck, dragging him out of the hallway and into the sitting room of the suite by his face. He glared at his old friend, releasing the back of his head and making a gesture with his hands, like an orchestra conductor as he shushed. He didn't let go of his very drunk friend's face until Carlos repeated the motion, and even then he was ready to clap it back down at the first sign that Carlos was going to yell, or sing, anymore. He watched his friend's unfocused, heavy lidded eyes as his hand went back to his side. Carlos nodded and looked around, rasping his voice, but still basically talking at full volume, "Why are we whispering? Oh, JoAnna's here...". He looked around the room and stumbled a bit, before issuing a loud apology to the empty room that brought an amused smile to Eli's face, but he quickly hid it, drawing himself up to his full height and crossing his arms over his chest, raising his eyebrows expectantly, waiting for the explanation. The clock on the mantle said that it was just after three in the morning, and he was glad that Carlos was too drunk to notice that he himself was asleep in his clothes from the wedding. He waited, and Carlos grinned charmingly, that smile that allowed him to wind his way into the lives of others and learn their secrets as he leaned back, trying to steady himself on a small table, but the table was no match for his wobbling weight. The lamp that lit the room teetered and fell, narrowly saved by Eli's quick reflexes. He glared at his friend, but the damage was done. A little cry rang out from the smaller bedroom and he closed his eyes, rubbing at his neck and blowing a burst of frustrated air out through his lips.

The bedroom door opened and JoAnna stepped out with Rosie on her hip. Her hair was falling down from the updo it was in for the wedding, her green silk headscarf completely askew and hanging on by a hairpin. They both looked groggy and confused, grimacing as the light from the rescued lamp burned at their sleepy eyes. He smiled at them tightly, shrugging in the most subtle way he could. Carlos stared at the two girls, his face blank, his jaw slack for a moment as his mind slogged through the tequila induced swamp in his skull. Suddenly, he snapped back into action, tugging at and straightening his rumbled, stained clothes to try to right himself. "Señora, señorita, please forgive my loud intrusion," he slurred at them, drawing a small, pitying smile from Jo. His eyes stayed on them, his brows furrowed and Eli smirked, knowing exactly what was coming. "Psst, Eli," he said, the presence of alcohol in his blood not allowing him to censor anything he said, "Ya had a full size kid in the year you were away?"

He stifled a chuckle under his breath and crossed the room to his wife, caressing Rosie's full cheek as she yawned. "Jo, ttthis is…'Los. 'Lllos, mmmmeet Jo a-and Rr-rrosie."

Jo's eyebrows flicked up and she wanted to know what was going on, but she still managed a sweet, shy smile and a quiet, "Hello, Carlos," before looking back down at Rosie, who was already dozing again on her shoulder.

'Go back to bed,' Eli signed. 'Let Rosie sleep.'

She eyed Carlos warily, and, sensing her mistrust, knowing by way of letters from Eli that she'd been through a lot with nefarious types of men, the inebriated Spaniard smiled at her apologetically and said, "I didn't mean to wake the whole family, amigo." He paused and stilled as he told Eli, "I didn't have anywhere else to go."

She sighed and smoothed Rosie's hair down. 'There are extra blankets in the cupboard, don't let him leave.'

Carlos started to sing again, and the corner of her mouth quirked up in amusement at the song that Eli didn't understand. "Sana, sana, Colita de rana." He stumbled to the sofa and sat down hard on it before looking up at Eli with a pained look on his face. "Is this how it is for you?"

Eli squeezed Jo's hand and was back across the room and bent down in front of Carlos in a few long strides. "Wwwhat's i-it lllike?" he asked carefully.

Carlos slowly wagged his head, "The words are all swimmy up there and they just tumble out…wait, no. I guess it would be the opposite." He paused, thoughtfully, "The words are there, but the mouth is all swimmy." Eli chuckled, he never would have phrased it that way, but it wasn't wrong and he nodded patting his old friend on the knee before turning back to Jo.

'You're sure?'

She smiled, 'He's your friend. Either put him to bed on the couch or in Rosie's bed and we'll get clean sheets tomorrow. Will David mind?' He shot her a withering look, the amount of pandering and apologizing David did earlier in the week made Eli care very little about what Mouth really would or wouldn't mind. She giggled and stifled a yawn.

All this while, Carlos was still talking, completely oblivious to their silent exchange. "I know, amigo, I'm being ill-mannered for a man who is asking to stay here. I just can't go home because my querida is mad at me and I may have ruined everything tonight just for the sake of ruining it…I'm such a pedazo de mierda…". Again, that amused little smile showed up on JoAnna's face along with a far away look in her dark eyes.

Eli shook his head at Carlos' muttering. There were already two conversations happening in the room, a third language breaking in and out when he only had a passing grasp on speaking one of the one's already being used was asking a lot at 3 am. "'Los, I d-ddon't knnnow s-sspanish."

"He said his darling is mad at him and he's a piece of shit," JoAnna answered easily, hoisting Rosie higher on her hip as the girl's weight sagged with sleep.

Carlos raised his head and stared at her, before a slow, lopsided smile spread across the Spaniard's face. "Your Spanish is good."

She nodded her thanks for the compliment, "It's a little rusty and I don't use it often. The tutor my mother hired after my first one passed away wasn't nearly as good." Eli looked back and forth as they talked, shoving down the inkling of jealousy that each of them spoke at least three languages, all off which were spoken in entire countries. He spoke stuttered English and was fluent in American Sign that was only used in a few schools sprinkled around the country. No matter how many words he spoke, there were always more that were out of his reach.

JoAnna was beginning to come out of her shell, warming up to Carlos, and being that the long sips out of the flask in Carlos' pocket didn't escape Eli's notice, Carlos was getting more and more personable the more tequila entered his system. "My mother taught the rich kids. One of her students liked climbing trees so they would sneak out of the house and climb a tree and she'd give her lesson there." He looked perplexed for a moment. "I dunno why I told you that, maybe because I know so much about you, looking for you all that time. All those books he told me about. I looked for Jane Eyre, and Elizabeth Bennet...all the Bennetts...why are there so many damn girls named Bennet in that book? I looked for Bronte's and Austen's, but you were never anywhere. Poof, gone." He petered off. "What was I talking about? Oh right, la trepadora de los arboles..."

"Carmen. Your mother was Carmen." Her eyes were wide with amazement and wet with tears, but that small smile never left her mouth. "You look like her."

"Estas ella? La trepadora." Carlos said, smiling, "¿Quién hubiera pensado que nos encontraríamos? ¡Qué mundo tonto y pequeño!"

Jo returned his smile and looked to Eli. 'He called me a tree climber and said 'Who would have thought we would ever meet, what a small, funny world.' I'm going to bed, my Love. Don't stay out too long and don't come to bed smelling like a still, please. Maybe remind him to look past the end of the bottle. He's hurting.' Carlos watched in fascination, as they spoke without words before she took Rosie in to the master bedroom of the suite, only to come out again in her nightgown and wrapper, and knelt down in front of the very lost looking man sitting on her couch. "Recuerdes, querido amigo, su solución hay no en su bebida. No se quita el dolor, sino que lo hace demasiado estúpido para notarlo. Usted no es su pasado o sus demonios, usted es lo que usted elige hacer ahora. El pasado ha terminado, fijo. Todo lo que puedes cambiar es lo que haces con este momento y cada momento después de éste. Esperar hasta que estés sobrio. Dile que lo sientes y luego ser paciente. Perdonarse a sí mismo y ella también lo hará." He stared at her in awe for a moment before she gently patted his cheek and stood, giving Eli a deep kiss and a tender look that was more than simple love and took her leave, shutting the bedroom door behind her.

Eli looked back and forth between the door and his friend, his brows furrowed, while Carlos sat, looking like Jo just dropped a house on his sister. "Wh-wh-what did she say?" he asked. As affected as Carlos had been all day by whatever he did to his girl, whatever JoAnna said to him broke him.

"She...she said, 'Remember, dear friend, your solution is not in your drink. It doesn't take the pain away, it just makes you too stupid to notice it. You are not your past or your demons, you are what you choose to do now. The past is over, fixed. All that you can change is what you do with this moment and every moment after this one.'" He swallowed hard and barked out a strange sounding laugh. "Then she told me to shut up till I'm sober, apologize to Sophie and forgive myself and that Sophie would too." Eli smiled, his very soul feeling warmed and comforted by Jo being able to use her past few years of misery to help Carlos.

"Th-there...there's a b-b-bed..." he pointed to the smaller bedroom, but Carlos waved him off, toeing off his boots and laying back.

"Drunk men belong on couches, not little girl's beds." They shared a look at that one and while Carlos chuckled at his dirty, drunken sense of humor, Eli just shook his head and pulled a blanket out of a cupboard and dropped it on the Spaniards face.

"G'night 'Los, washroom is th-there." He closed the door behind him and quietly undressed, sliding under the covers with Jo and Rosie, holding them all the tighter because his heartache was over, and he had the two of them there to prove it.


	5. Return to New York, part 2

Eli woke to a tiny body kneeing him in the gut as she clambered over him to climb to the floor. He rolled over and smiled at her as she paced and looked around a bit frantically. "Wh-wh-wh-what's wrrrrrrong?" he asked with much difficulty. "Wh-wh-wh..." He stopped and blew out a frustrated breath, smiling at her again, reminding himself that Cici said it was good for Rosie to see him struggle. She tilted her head to the side curiously and he tried again. "Wh-wh-whe-where g-g-g-going?" That didn't mean he had to like it, though. Damn Carlos and his drunken banging in the middle of the night. Everything was harder when he was this tired. Rosie babbled at him, squeezing her knees together and hopping around. He knew that dance. After the kick to his gut, he was going to be next in line to do that dance. He put his finger to his lips, shushing her to remind her to be quiet and then shooed her out the door of the bedroom. Jo scooted in and pulled at his arm so that she could cuddle in.

"We're parents," she mumbled with a smile on her lips even though her eyes weren't open. He tapped her nose, trying to get her to open her eyes but she batted him away. "Noooooooo," she whined. "Too tired for signing. Talk to me."

He sighed heavily and pushed his hair back from his forehead, "T-t-t-too t-t-t-t-tired to ta-ta-ta-talk," he answered, his neck burning with embarrassment.

She sat up quickly, suddenly awake and apologetic. "I wasn't thinking, Love. I'm sorry. I'm awake."

He smiled at her, forgiving her instantly and signed, 'Coffee. Everything will be better with coffee,' and started to try to get up and get ready only to be pulled back down.

"Oh, no, Mr Cooper. You are not leaving me alone with a drunk secret stealer passed out on the couch. My return from the dead is already going to have the gossip columnists in a tizzy, I don't need to give them any more ammunition like being joined in a hotel room by men associated with gangs at three am and then being left unaccompanied by my husband."

He chuckled at the little bit of ingrained upper class vanity that was coming back out as she really came into herself. She wasn't stuck up by any means, it was innocent, put into her head by nannies and finishing school teachers that her reputation must always be cared for and tended to. At the ranch there was no reason for her to think like that, but here, back where she was raised, it was funny to watch her fight the little quirks. 'He's a skip-trace, odds are he won't end up in the rags.'

"But I might! 'Long Lost Witten Daughter Returns for Midnight Tryst With Mysterious Men...'". She held her hands up, her fingers spread wide as she recited the made up headline. "It will be all the scandal." She grinned at him. "Mother might actually give herself an aneurysm instead of just a nosebleed." He couldn't help himself, she was too cute imagining her own tabloid headlines. He rolled over n top of her, tickling her ribs and kissing the crook of her neck while she tried not to squeal. "Stop!" she giggled.

"Nnnnnno Mmmmmarta to walk in on us hhhhhhere," he stammered not letting her up.

"But Rosie is!" she gasped, trying to catch her breath between giggles. Nothing sobers a man up like the thought of being walked in on by a kid, especially a brand new kid. He got out of bed and dressed, leaving his shirt undone and his suspenders hanging and started to pace.

'How long does it take little kids to pee?' he asked, making her giggle.

She picked up a book off of the side table and opened it, "How long has she been gone?" He shrugged. Her eyes drifted down into the pages and even though she said, "I'll check on her in a minute," he knew that Jo was as good as gone. There was no outside world when she was reading.

He huffed and grumped a bit longer as he paced, grumbling at JoAnna unintelligibly under his breath. Every so often she looked up from the pages of whatever world she was lost in and chuckled at him. "You know, you're her father, you can check on her too." The thought hadn't occurred to him. She WAS his, not a student, his little girl. He felt JoAnna's eyes on him as he puffed up with pride at that thought.

She got up and was brushing her hair when Carlos called out, "Eli?" sounding a little desperate.

'Hurry up,' he said, kissing the top of her head, 'the mystery man needs our help.' She quickly dressed and he opened the door, "'Los, g-g-g-good mmmmmmorning." He held a hand up behind his back and it was filled with her hand immediately, letting him pull her forward to see the ridiculous sight in front of him. Rosie was scaling the imposing Spaniard like Jo scaled trees and if Eli was grumpy and miserable without coffee running through his veins, then Carlos had entered the seventh circle of hell, wearing a small child like a mink stole. Eli had to cover his mouth to keep from laughing, knowing Carlos was in no mood to take it well, but Jo just laughed, her melodious giggle punctuated with comical little snorts.

Carlos glared at them both through bloodshot eyes, "Laugh it up." He shook Rosie off of him and she giggled as her body hit the bouncy couch cushions. On wobbly legs, he stood and sidled away from her so she couldn't attack him again, glaring at her blearily. "Is she Teddy's kid? 'Cause she has his eyes and the propensity to annoy me." Every moment he was standing, Carlos looked a bit more pale and a bit more ragged.

"Teddy?" JoAnna asked, and Eli felt his hand reflexively squeeze hers. She pressed into his side, looking up at him with concern. With one sentence, Carlos had managed to suck all of the oxygen out of the room, and he didn't even know it, standing there, sidling towards the washroom and trying to discreetly swallow down the contents of his stomach as sweat fell down his brow. "Ted Painten introduced Eli to me to look for you. He was a low brute in the Dockside Gang." He paused in the doorway to look thoughtfully at the little girl, "Must have been the last bead on his long string of mercy fucks, since she's what five? Must have been right before Mick took him out." Somehow both graceful and stumbling at the same time, Carlos made a beeline for the washroom door, leaving JoAnna and Eli to wrap their brains around the information he just hit them with. Neither one even had the mental stamina in that moment to chastise him for cursing so vulgarly in front of Rosie.

His hand dropped JoAnna's and he rushed to Rosie, scooping her up protectively and perching her on his left hip so he could stare into her eyes. She smiled shyly and rested her forehead against his. He didn't exactly have a lot of time or desire to stare deeply into the other gang members eyes when he was around Dockside, but he'd never met anyone else with eyes like Scatter's, lively and earthy and deep and warm. Yet here was another set staring right back into his. She pulled back and touched the skin just below his eye and muttered her word for pretty. The smile on his face was shaky as he touched the same place on her cheek and ducked his head so his arm could reach to sign, 'beautiful.'

She giggled and peppered his cheek with sweet little kisses, signing 'thank you' as she said, "Danno."

He praised her heavily for trying so hard and handed her to Jo, slipping behind them into the bedroom and shutting the door. He just needed a moment to think. How did he not see it? Even after Jo told him Cici's story of the tenement women gossiping about Dockside, he never thought of that possibility. Carlos was right, the timing worked out. Her birthday was July 10, 1902. He leaned on the dresser, staring into the mirror above it. "Hhhhhhholy Shhhhhit," he breathed to his own reflection.

Jo knocked tentatively before following him in, leaving Rosie to look at the book plates in her copy of The Wizard of Oz. Their eyes met in the mirror, her dark, delicate brows furrowed in concern. "Ted as in Marta's Ted? Ted that Teddy is named for?" He sighed and put his hand to the back of his neck, nodding reluctantly, waiting for the look of horror, for her to panic. They just adopted the love child of Marta's childhood sweetheart and one of Mick's prostitutes. How could she not be horrified? Truth be told, he was a bit sick over it, and he knew Scatter Painten at his best. But she surprised him, she always could, and wrapped her arms around him from behind and holding him close. "More proof that she's ours. Someone important to you helped make her, now you can do for her what he did for you." He straightened up and stared into her eyes as the peaked over his shoulder, in utter awe of the brave creature she had grown to be. Her eyebrows raised and she kissed the spot on his shoulder, the large scar that's still tingled when her lips touched it even through his shirt. "Come on, go make sure he's presentable in case my adoring crowds of gossip reporters are waiting for us in the hotel restaurant." He rolled his eyes and smacked her backside gently as she walked away. Her body never forgot the small, leisurely smooth way a lady was taught to walk. She glided gracefully from room to room, pulling a grey dress out of their packages from the night before and dressing Rosie.

He banged on the door of the washroom. "'Los? You d-d-d-dead in'ere?" he called, turning the handle.

"Eli!" Jo admonished. "Wait for him to come out at least! You can't go in there with him!"

He grinned at her, "I g-g-grew up wwwwwith three t-t-t-toilets for thhhhhhhirty of us. It's wwwwwwweirder to me t-t-to pee al-alone than to wwwwwalk in on him." She balked at the thought and he didn't bother to hide his snigger. "Pr-prude rrrrrrrich g-g-g-g..."

"Be nice," she warned, helping Rosie step into a new pair of boots, "or we'll start talking about who deflowered whom." Heat crawled up his neck and to his ears and he banged on the door a few more times until he heard a grunt from Carlos and stepped in.

His nose wrinkled instinctively at the stench of stomach acid and tequila. Carlos stood, holding himself up on the porcelain basin of the sink, alternately splashing his face and filling his mouth with water only to spit it out again. He didn't acknowledge Eli as he side stepped behind him. Once his bladder was finally relieved, and his clothes righted, Eli leaned back against the wall and watched Carlos, who seemed to be trying to divine the meaning of life from the water running out of the taps. "You wwwwwwwanna eat?" he asked, receiving a groan and a loud belch in answer. "What d-d-d-did you d-d-d-do to hhhher? To Ssssssssssophie?"

Carlos eyes raised from the sink and met Eli's in the mirror, scowling and hard. "I told her the truth. Why is your stutter so bad? It's like listening to a motorcar engine that won't turn over. Wasn't like yesterday, was it?"

Again, the heat of embarrassment climbed his back and he shook his head looking down and grinning ruefully. "Ssssssssee, thhhhhhhere w-was this b-b-banging oooon mmmmy d-d-door..."

"Enough!" Carlos snapped, cutting Eli off and pinching the bridge of his nose. "I got it. I woke you up. It's my fault, like everything else."

Eli wanted to slink away, he knew Carlos didn't mean his harsh words, but that didn't make them or being told to stop trying hurt less, but instead of wilting, he yanked the wayward skip-trace upright and hauled him out of the washroom by his shirt front. A few minutes later, with Carlos wearing one of Eli's clean shirts, they were riding the elevator down to the lobby. Carlos leaned against the gilt walls of the compartment, pressing his clammy face against the cool metal. Eli nudged Jo and started signing. She raised her eyebrows at him. 'Did he say something?' she asked.

'Tell him,' was the only answer he was willing to give, no one needed angry JoAnna to come out.

"Carlos, Eli says that Blink, the restaurant manage is the..." she looked back up at Eli, confused by his wording, "master of big greasy hangover breakfasts? That he has more than enough experience to settle your stomach."

Carlos groaned threateningly and Eli didn't bother to hide his slightly bitter chuckle. "You're not funny, Amigo." He swallowed loudly, closing his eyes and grumbled, "Cabrón, que te folles un pez," but couldn't hide the proud smirk when JoAnna tried to cover a laugh with a cough.

 _A/N: I just have to say that Joker and I were cracking up after finding a blog post about cursing like a Spaniard. Cabron is the Spanish equivalent of dickhead, and "que te folles un pez," translates to "I hope you get fucked with a fish," I know all of your lives are richer for knowing that. Stay tuned for more cursing like a hungover Spaniard! And go to Joker is Poker with a J's profile and check out "The Benjamin Hotel Chronicles" to see these scenes from Carlos' POV!_


	6. Return to New York, Part 3

The restaurant was in chaos, none of the waiters seemed to know which tables were theirs, the busboys were too busy fetching things for the confused waiters to bus the tables and Blink was no where to be seen. Eli wondered where he ended up passed out at, since he had a reputation for drinking a bit too much and picking up more than a few too many women in the process. He seemed fine at the ceremony, but then he wasn't really around once the party started. "Sssssss'ittery!" he called to the disheveled waiter hanging out in the corner watching the normally well ordered place dissolve into chaos with a smirk on his face. Carlos let out a grumbled curse under his breath at the volume as Skittery came over.

"Heya Trout, you three need a table? I'll get you a good seat for the shit show!" Eli grinned and held up four fingers, jerking his head towards Carlos. "Oh, sure. C'mon. Right over here." He smiled at Rosie and bent down with a big genuine smile on his face. "Heya Princess! Where'd you come from?" Skits always had a soft spot for little kids.

"This is Rosie, we adopted her yesterday," JoAnna answered with a proud smile. "What's going on in here, Skittery?"

He grinned, reaching down and taking Rosie's hand, like it was the most natural thing in the world. "Well, ya' see, he might not look it, but Blink runs this place with an iron fist and when he don't show up for work and we gots to figure things out for ourselves...this is what you get."

"And you just sit to the side and watch it all?" She asked, following him to one of the only clean tables left in the place.

He sniggered, "Yup." He seated Rosie like she was a visiting queen, and they watched some of the mistrust drain from the depths of her green eyes, but she didn't smile, just watched him warily. Once he walked away to get a pot of coffee for the adults, she put her hands on the table, raising them up to walk on the tips of her index and middle fingers, humming quietly to herself and Carlos slumped forward, resting his head on his arm on the tabletop.

'Who's that?' Eli asked , pointing at one hand.

Rosie looked back and forth between his hands and her own for a little while before raising the other hand to her face and making the sign for her own name as she said, "Ohzie," and then put her hand back to dance with it's partner.

'Who's that?' he asked, pointing at the hand she just put back down.

"Ohzie lem." Carlos grunted while JoAnna pressed to figure out what "lem" was, but Rosie didn't answer her. Instead, she reached out and put Eli's hand like her own and then reached for Carlos', but he pulled away. Eli rolled his eyes and offered her his other hand. She put it like the other, but moved it towards Carlos, side eyeing him a bit. She pointed to each as she said their names, "Eeyai, Yotz," then she moved them closer together, "lems."

"Friends," JoAnna said, shooting him a knowing look. "Yes, Eli and Carlos ARE friends." She raised a brow. 'Why aren't you talking?' she asked, but Eli didn't answer, just pulled his hands back and buried his nose in his cup of coffee. She huffed in annoyance and picked up the menu that Skittery left behind for her. "Rosie, do you like eggs?" Rosie shrugged. Eli watched over the rim of the cup. He had every intention of having fried eggs every day they were in New York since Spot had a weird thing against them. He looked over to her imploringly, but she looked back to her menu. "I wont," she said firmly, answering the question he didn't ask.

Carlos looked up. "You won't what?"

"Talk for him, since you said something and now he won't. He's being a big baby and I'm not playing along. He has to order his own food." Her eyes never left Eli's, narrowing with challenge. Carlos' eyebrows flicked up and he reached out and grabbed the glass of water on the table in front of him draining it quickly. JoAnna nudged hers towards him and he drank it down just as quick. "That should help," she said quietly, "couple more of those and something in your stomach and you'll be good as new." She paused, her nose scrunching and the space between the delicate arches of her brows wrinkling slightly. Eli knew what she was thinking, where in time her mind was taking her and he grabbed her hand, pulling it to his mouth and kissed it softly, trying to pull her away from there.

Things were once again tense and awkward after they ordered their food, but Carlos seemed to be perking up. Their plates were set in front of them and the Spaniard set about wolfing down his eggs and hash.

JoAnna cut Rosie's toast into little strips and showed her how she could dip them into the gooey, golden center of her boiled egg, sitting in it's pretty little cup. She had half of a banana sliced up and Skittery had snuck her a plump, red, hothouse strawberry as well, one of the last of the summer. She cooed and muttered about how pretty it was, not wanting to eat something so beautiful. Carlos misunderstood, though. He thought she was refusing to eat it, not saving it for last and popped it into his mouth.

Rosie was on her feet in her chair, fuming mad, her eyes brightening to the acidic green of absinthe as her face flushed. "My!" she yelped, launching her body at him. The quick skip trace managed to stand before she hit him, but honestly it would have been better if he hadn't. If he had stayed sitting, she would have landed on his chest and maybe knocked his chair over backwards, but since he stood up, her hard little head struck him right in the groin. He crumpled on the ground, coughing and drooling bright pink strawberry juice. Rosie didn't care about his incapacitated state, she kept going, beating at him with her little balled up fists and yelling at him incoherently until Eli pulled her off and carried her off into the door that led to the kitchen to calm down.

JoAnna knelt at the Spaniard's side and glared down at him. "All that over a goddamn strawberry? She wasn't eating it!" he grunted, sitting up.

She sighed. "Imagine you're five years old and suddenly in a place where no one understands what you're saying, but you can understand them perfectly. They put you in a big room of other children and give you only enough to eat to keep you going. The other children seem to know immediately that you are a target, that you are at a disadvantage. You can't tell on them when they do something to you. So they start snatching the little bit of food on your plate and stuffing it into their own greedy little mouths every chance they get, because all you can do is scream. Instead of seeing that you are hungry and not getting your share, the adults only see you throwing a tantrum at every meal and punish you for being naughty." She stared into the guilty and still red rimmed blue eyes staring out of his dark face. She watched the flush of blood crawl up his neck. "People finally come and try to understand you after you've been through this for four months, three different places, but its all the same, the children are just as cruel each place. The new people are kind and really seem to want to hear you, and they take you to a strange place where you are woken in the middle of the night by a man who is then just as mean to you as the children were. He's gruff to you and makes the one man who truly understands you so ashamed that he won't talk, not even to you and then he steals the prized gift you were given by a new friend off of your plate and eats it without a thought, reminding you of all those times you were hungry." He stared back at her defiantly, but she could see his remorse. He was just more like Spot than most, too proud for apologies. "So yes, all of that over a goddamned strawberry. All of that over an offhand comment made while you were likely trying to drag your head out of the toilet and don't even remember making now that you're feeling human again." She pulled him to his feet. "You saw her before, when we were waiting. She makes up friends to play with a made up her. When he was her age he was beating up the neighborhood kids for calling him a dummy. They're incredibly lonely, trapped inside themselves. Don't make me regret saying you could be around us. Don't be too proud either, he will cut you out. Most people only get one strike with him." With that, she set some coins on the table and left him to go find her husband and daughter.


	7. Return to New York, Part 4

Carlos left the Benjamin feeling somehow worse than when he woke up. How had he fallen so low over the course of the morning? Insulting a man who had only ever been kind and respectful, and then subsequently stealing candy from a baby. Well, a strawberry from a little girl, but it was no less appalling. He stopped at a store to pickup a fifth of tequila and tucked it securely into the inside pocket of his jacket, just in case, but decided to detour through Central Park before heading home. He needed to figure things out, so, he forced himself to walk off the remaining effects of his bender and to get some fresh, albeit hot, summer air.

His hangover was nearly gone, a faint pounding was all that was left and it might as well have been caused by his angry, cutting thoughts. He was so tired of fucking things up. He needed to sort through his darkness, get things in order, before attempting to win back Sophie. If he was lucky, she'd be cooled down and willing to talk by tonight.

All of his friends, well, his very few friends, were growing up, getting married, starting families of their own, but not him. No, he was actively pushing away the one woman he wanted in his life. He could imagine Sophie in his apartment, feeding bites of scrambled egg to a little girl with her blonde hair and green eyes but his mother's warmed olive skin. A little girl who would look at him the way that Rosie looked at Eli, a little girl who would only see his strengths, who would believe he had no faults.

The park was full of children and families, out soaking up the last of the summer sunshine before the cool winds and dreary rain of fall came. Two little girls not much older than Rosie sat on a park bench beside the path, dancing little dolls no bigger than their hands along the wooden slats of the seat. They were well to do little girls with well to do little porcelain dolls. Their hair was in perfect ringlets hanging over their frilly white dresses. The hands that gripped the dolls were clad in lacy gloves and their boots were polished to a high shine. Even though they lived so differently than the little girl who attacked him over a strawberry, they played the same way, dancing their dollies along they way she danced her fingers across his ribs and the breakfast table. "Pollas en vinagre," he muttered, depositing himself on the next empty bench.

JoAnna told him to act like the man that he wanted to be not the one he told Sophie he was, to start afresh, and the first thing he did with that advice was to insult a friend and act like an ass to a child. Sophie would have looked up at him in disappointment and his mother would never let him hear the end of it. He discreetly adjusted himself, hurting just thinking about the payback Rosie doled out to him. Neither Rosie nor Sophie deserved what he did to them. He watched, without looking like he was watching, he was a skip trace after all, as the little girls danced their little dolls and an idea came to him. JoAnna said he took a gift from Rosie, a gift from a new friend. Maybe he could fix things with Sophie and maybe he couldn't, but maybe he could practice this humility stuff with Rosie.

His home in the Toy District around the Flatiron building was home to a number of toy distributors and, as such, there were a few more toy shops in the area as well, one of them specializing in dolls. Stepping into the shop was like stepping onto another plane of reality. Everything was frilly and tiny and delicate. He was a graceful man, able to move silently and with intention, but the cramped space full of tiny miniaturized things made him feel hulking and clumsy. He sidled over to a display of china dolls like he'd seen in the gloved hands of the girls in the park, sucking in a gut that he didn't have and trying to somehow make his large frame take up less space. Staring at their blankly pleasant faces though, he thought of Rosie's fury earlier and her eagerness to climb him and play rough. Those poor, porcelain saps wouldn't last a day in her fiery presence. So he moved on, carefully picking his way around the shop until an attendant took pity on him and came to put him out of his misery. "Can I help you?"

"Yeah...uhhh...I'm looking for a doll," he said uneasily.

"Well, you've come to the right place," she said kindly. "What kind of a doll for what kind of a child? How old is your daughter?"

He scowled, "Not my daughter. My friend's kid. She's...five...ish?" That's what JoAnna said, wasn't it? The whole morning was rather painful and blurry.

But the helpful shopkeep just kept smiling. "Most little girls that age like baby dolls..." She started to move towards a display of bald headed babies but he stopped her mid sentence.

"No," he snapped overly sharply, making her step back as her smile faltered. He cleared his throat and let himself slump a bit. "She does this thing...with her fingers..." With a face beet red with embarrassment, he showed the woman Rosie's little finger dance. "I thought she might like better dolls than her fingers. She doesn't talk very well, she uses them to act out what she wants sometimes. They need to be little, so she can carry them in her pockets and sturdy. She's a tough little thing and she's moving to the country in a few weeks."

The smile came back to the shopkeep's ruddy cheeks and her brown eyes warmed back up and he got the impression that she was impressed with him. As deep in the sewers as his self worth was, it was nice to have someone not think he was slime. "Bisque would be delicate for an...assertive girl and for taking with her wherever she goes. I don't think I have anything on the floor right now that would fit the bill...but just wait right here. Let me check something in the back. I'll be right back." She rushed away, leaving him alone in the pink, frilly shop and he tried not to look so uneasy. She didn't take long, coming back with a small white box no bigger than a child's shoe box in her hands. "These are from a few Christmases ago. They never sold very well because a girl with a dollhouse wants the bisque and and girl without a dollhouse normally wants a bigger doll, but I think they might be just the ticket for your little friend." Inside the box, under a few layers of tissue were two little wooden dolls. Their heads and torsos were about the size of a clothespin with dangling, articulated wooden arms and legs hanging off like marionette puppets had, but without the strings. Their faces and hair were painted, with rosy cheeks and pursed little red mouths. One had brown hair and the other yellow, their eyes were just a little U of black paint with painted eyelashes as if their eyes were closed and they wore whispy little dresses made of what looked to be handkerchiefs. The kind woman picked them up by their torsos and danced them across the counter together, their arms and legs jiggling merrily, and a small smile quirked at his lips.

"Yes, thats perfect," he said quietly. She was just about to close the box and tie it closed with a piece of twine when he saw a little bundle of roses made from ribbon behind the counter. "Can I have one of those?" he asked, making the woman turn to see what he pointed at.

"Oh, those are just going to be turned into little bouquets for the dollies. They're just supplies right now."

"Just one," he insisted. "For Rosie." The kindly woman couldn't resist that and wrapped the wire stems of one of the roses around the brunette doll's hand. She looked like she was holding out a peace offering. His pockets and his heart a bit lighter, he started back towards the Ben feeling a bit better. He nodded through the window of Caine's Candies at Vivian Meyers, Mush's wife and almost passed right by until he saw a fresh batch of chocolate covered strawberries under a cloche on the counter and made a sharp u-turn veering right into the air-cooled store.

"Ma'am," he greeted her respectfully. They were cautious acquaintances, neither one being of the overly friendly sort, but he liked her more than most. She was like JoAnna, but without Jo's wild mouthy streaks and she earned his respect honestly with how she dealt with the way Barkers went after her just after Eli left.

"Carlos," she returned with a soft smile. "More peppermint patties for Sophie? She's going to think you're trying to fatten her up at this rate!"

That burned him a bit, but he swallowed it back and smiled as best he could. "No, Ma'am, just wondering if you had anymore strawberries without the chocolate on them?"

Unphased by the odd question, Vivian smiled, "I might have a pint or two in back, why? Isn't Sophie allergic to strawberries? I remember her saying something..."

"Not for Sophie," he answered, but rushed on at her cocked eyebrow. He might be in trouble with Sophie, but he didn't need anyone spreading talk about him stepping out on her! "Eli...Trout, he and his wife adopted a little girl yesterday. Its a present for her." Vivian's soft smile returned and she went to the back and came back with two gigantic red berries that were just as pretty, if not prettier than the one he stole that morning.

"You're sure you want them plain?" she asked. "Hold on, let me do something...". She took the slightly smaller of the two and went to her pots of warm chocolate, dipping it first in dark, bittersweet chocolate and then in creamy white chocolate. She finished it with a pretty, pink sugar flower and packed them up in a box on a bed of shredded paper. "Make sure you have Blink put them in the fridge if they aren't in their room when you deliver them! The strawberries wont last long in this heat!" She called after him as he went out the door with a kind wave.

In the hotel lobby, he tried to convince himself to man up and take the packages upstairs, but then he remembered Eli's face as he stalked away with Rosie and decided that this was one time to take the cowards way out. Eli would kick him out the minute he saw him. Thats what he would do if the tables were turned. Thankfully, none of Tony's ex-newsie pals were sitting at the front desk. The kid sitting there was normally a bellhop, and was just covering while Mush or David took care of something else, since they were short staffed while Tony was on his honeymoon. "Delivery for suite 613, Cooper," he said.

"Yes sir, is there a message to send up with it?" the boy asked. Carlos took a sheet of hotel stationery and scrawled a quick note, and wrote her full name on the outside before sliding the packages across the desk at the boy and running out the door.

The Coopers had just gotten back from getting Rosie's picture made, wanting to remember what she looked like when she became theirs. Rosie was drawing on paper, lying on her stomach on the floor and JoAnna was sorting out Rosie's new clothes into armoires and drawers while Eli compose a letter to Marta letting her know about their new addition. At the knock, he put his pen down and went to the door. His eyes were heavy lidded with exhaustion; he was hoping Rosie would take a nap so that he could take one too.

"Package for Miss Cooper," the bellhop said cheerily when he opened the door, holding a stack of small boxes out.

"Mmmmmmiss C-c-c-c-coopper?" he stammered.

"Yes sir, the note says Miss Rosalie Cooper, suite 613." Eli took them and ducked his head in thanks before closing the door. Jo took the note out of his hand and read it with a sly smile creeping over her face.

"Wh-wh-who's it ffffffrrom?"

Jo took the boxes from him and set them on a small table that was just at Rosie's height. "It says, 'Unas muñecas para mi Cabrita. Tregua, Amiguita.' Go ahead, Rosie, its for you. From Carlos." While Rosie approached the boxes like they might blow up in her face, Eli held his hand out to his wife to see the note. It was exactly what she read, of course, and he couldn't read it. "Go on," Jo prodded. She pulled the tail on the twine tying up the bigger box and opened it, carefully peeling back some white tissue paper. Her face lit up, as her hands dug in, pulling out two little wooden dolls. "His note says, 'Dollies for my little billy goat. Truce, little friend.' I think this was Carlos' way of saying he's sorry."

"Says my day-days?" she asked in her strange way.

JoAnna nodded,"Yes, darling, they're your babies. You'll have to thank Carlos when you see him." Eli snorted, for him, despite the grand gesture, it was still an 'if' they saw Carlos again, if not an 'if hell freezes over.'

But Rosie was enamored. "I danno Yotz, my day-days," she agreed, signing 'thank you' and 'baby.' She smoothed their soft, colorful skirts with her small hands. Jo pushed the second box closer to the child, who's eyes lit up again. She opened it, setting her dollies to the side. JoAnna laughed when she pulled out the two strawberries, her eyes almost as big as the berries. She immediately asked if she could eat the plain one, as if it might run away or get stolen again. Then, with juice still running down her chin, she picked the chocolate one by its leaves. She touched the little pink sugar flower. "Dis me, dis Ohzie."

JoAnna pulled her close and kissed her. "Yes, love. He did good, he made everything just for you." Once her snack was eaten, Rosie handed JoAnna a doll. Jo looked up at Eli and smiled. "I think Daddy needs a nap while we have a little girl time. Maybe he'll feel a little more gracious about Carlos' gesture then." Eli made an extremely dirty gesture at her with his tongue stuck out before giving in and going to the bedroom to lay down. He knew Carlos was hurting, both in his heart and his mind. He didn't mean to hurt anyone. Eli knew that, but Jo was right, in the embarrassed, exhausted, anxious fog he was in, he couldn't see himself getting over it right then. He pulled his boots off and unbuttoned his shirt. A cool breeze came in from the open window as he lied down on top of the covers. He and the Spaniard had been through too much to walk away, but that didn't mean a strawberry and a dollie would fix things for him, even if it worked on Rosie.

 _A/N: "pollas en vinagre" means dicks in vinager. I may never curse in english again._


	8. Return To New York, Part 5

Jesse Fletcher ran into the house after the long walk home from school, dragging the heat and the sweet, green smell of drying grass into the kitchen with him as he bellowed, "Ma! Mr. Mason sent a letter! Its from New York!" He dumped he and Will's school books on the table as Marta hauled her body up out of a chair that she had put in front of the open back door, trying to catch a breeze.

She took the letter from his hand and lightly snapped his nose with it, "What have I told you about that 'Ma' business, huh? Mama was just fine a few months ago! Pick any other mother-like name...just not Ma! You sound like a damn seagull." Jess humphed and made a beeline for the pantry as his mother went to dig out a knife to cut the letter with, but Darcy cut him off and handed him a slice of bread and butter and shooed him away from the family food storage. Between him and his brother, they felt like they were going to be eaten out of house and home.

"Only babies say Mama!" He grumped.

Marta cut the letter open and carefully pulled the expensive linen paper out from inside. The Benjamin Hotel was printed across the top in embossed black letters. "Will calls me Mama." She didn't notice the piece of cardboard that fell out of it by her feet.

"To your face, maybe..." the boy muttered as he filled his mouth with bread. He risked a glance her way and paled as her eyes narrowed at him. Messing with her at this point was dangerous. The baby was due any day, it was the hottest month of the year and, well, she was a bit scary on her good days.

"Where is Will?" Darcy asked, saving him from his mother.

He finished chewing and said, "Mr. Mason asked if he wanted to earn fifteen cents unloading a new shipment for him. He told me to take you your letter."

Darcy smiled, "That was kind of you to listen to him. Finish your snack and go do your chores." She picked up the fallen bit of the letter as Marta waddled back over to her chair by the door and eased herself down into it, hissing as the movement caused a tightening in her belly. "Read it out loud, I want to hear too!" Darcy cried, pulling out another chair. Cooper toddled around the kitchen under their feet while Teddy and Clarice played just outside the back door.

Dear Marta,

Being back here is strange. Its the same place as it was when I left, but somehow, its not. It's not my home anymore. Its just a place I used to live. There are almost as many motor cars as there are carriages and they're building more subway tunnels under the streets. JoAnna is fairing well despite a run in with her mother our first day here. The woman pretended she didn't know her own daughter! Jo was upset, but so much has been going on that she hasn't dwelled much on it. Racetrack's wife dragged her around a bit doing wedding errands and then she helped me with the child that Cici wrote me about a month or so before we left.

I hope things are well at home. Am I an uncle again yet? I don't know if there is any way to soften this so, I'm just going to come out with it, you're going to be an aunt. You already are. The little girl who Cici wanted me to see is named Rosie Brennan, or it was, but now it's Rosie Cooper. She's five, with dark brown hair like JoAnna's and big green eyes. She's like me. She talks like I did (except she actually does it instead of just not talking), and is hard to understand, but we're working on each other. Tell Fletcher that I remembered what he said, about bridging the gap. She's teaching us as much as we are her. She loves to sing and be read to. She'll give Clairey a run for her money in the sass department, the man she head butted at breakfast over a strawberry is probably still trying to swallow his balls back down out of his throat. We adopted her officially yesterday, August 9, 1907.

This is where things get hard. Rosie's past and ours, they tangle up in strange ways. I knew that going in, but an off-hand comment earlier made me think that it may get even stranger than I thought. Rosie's mother was a Fox girl, one of Mick's floozies. The father died before she even knew she was pregnant, a few days before the Fox burned. We think Rosie might be Scat's. There's no way to know for sure, but her eyes, they're just like his. Will you be ok with her? Will you be able to love her like you do the others? Its killing me to think that something that made Jo so happy could make you miserable.

There won't be time to get a letter back to us before we leave here, but I couldn't just spring it on you. We're so in love with her after only a week; we hope that you can be too.

Kiss my Buttercup, say something snotty to Darcy and punch Spot, I'm sure he deserves it. We'll be home on the noon train on September ninth.

See you soon,

Trout Cooper

Her abdomen squeezed again and she held the letter out to Darcy to wait for it to pass. He thought she wouldn't be able to love that little girl because she was Scat's. She opened her eyes and Darcy was holding out a piece of cardboard, a photograph. The little girl's round baby cheeks and pursed little bow mouth were endearing. Her long dark hair was brushed down her back and a little nosegay of flowers was tucked behind her ear. Though the picture was black and white, she could see what he meant about her eye. They were Scatter's, except they glowered at the camera-man as if he might bite her at any moment. She remembered when Trout looked that way. "She looks like Ted," Darcy murmured and Marta nodded absently. "Are you going to be ok?"

Marta glared at her, "He was my first love, not some bum off the street who wronged me. It would be an honor to help care for something that was his, even if he didn't know it. What happened to us was a series of prideful misunderstandings. We were equally at fault. How dare he think I would hold that against a child? How dare you?" She looked back at the little girl's sweet but mistrusting face. "She's ours to protect for him." Her abdomen tightened again accompanied by a pop and a splash of liquid.

Darcy grinned. "Well, we'll hold off on the telegram to tell him he's a dumbass until tomorrow. We can let him know who this baby is at the same time."

A few hours later, Darcy placed a squalling, shivering, red faced infant on Marta's now empty belly. The tiny boy had a crop of rusty red curls on his head. "Another bouncing boy!" Darcy announced.

"My lot in life," Marta sighed, pulling the tiny boy up to her chest to lay over her heart as Darcy covered them both with a towel, "surrounded by handsome men." She gently cleaned the baby off and smiled as he regarded her wearily with eyes that were a muddy grey that would likely be brown like his three older brothers.

"What are we naming this fine young man?" Darcy asked.

"Rusty James," Marta answered with a soft smile. "We're finally out of fallen friends."

"We were with Coop too! He's named after Eli because they have the same birthday."

Marta looked at her. "I think that was Spot feeling the weight of that big lie. Something told him that it was coming time to come clean and he named Cooper in case Eli left for good. You were asleep when he was pouring his heart out to that baby about what a bad guy he was and what a good guy Trout was. It was like he was at confession." Darcy mulled that over in silence and finished cleaning up, before letting the new mother and her baby have a few moments of peace.

The next day Fletcher sent a telegram from Mr. Mason's store to the Benjamin Hotel in New York City and Mush delivered it to the Cooper's hotel room.

At the knock, Eli opened the door and smiled, "Heya Mush."

Mush grinned, "Telegram foah you and the missus, Trout!'

Trout thanked him and shut the door. "Who would send us a telegram?" JoAnna asked, standing up from where she was reading with Rosie. He shrugged and opened it.

 **Rusty James born August 25. Mother and baby well. Bring our girl home stupid.**

Eli started laughing heartily as tears ran down his face while JoAnna looked at him strangely. He handed her the telegram. "Why would they waste the extra money for her to insult you?" She asked.

'Its not an insult,' he answered after wiping his eyes on his sleeve. 'Her and Scat, thats how they said I love you. Its just what I needed to hear.'

As perplexing as that was, Jo smiled and kissed his cheek, "She doesn't want us to worry about Rosie and her."

 _A/N: Just a wee little bit of the fluffiest of fluffs._


	9. Marta and her Cowboy

_A/N: Ok, so I know I just kinda dropped the ball on the whole, return to New York plot line and now I'm posting this...but I don't have any more of that figured out. I'm not sure I'm going to just now. But as an apology, I have for you, what really happened with Marta, Fletcher and the lasso._

Spot and Marta and Darcy made their way across the country. When the train stopped in Denver, Marta couldn't stop staring at the Rockies in the distance. "This is it," she told them, and the younger lovebirds agreed. They told everyone that Spot and Marta were siblings, and Marta took Conlon as her last name to make the story bleievable. They didn't need anyone accusing them of anything improper. They got rooms at a boarding house and the girls quickly befriended the elderly innkeeper. Spot was like a caged tiger at first, staying away from other's until the worst of his outbursts were past. When he started to get restless, Miss Jeannie called up the owner of a store that she knew and got him a job loading customer's orders onto wagons. The labor was back breaking, but it left him too tired to dream and seemed to settle him. It was around then that they discovered that Darcy was pregnant.

Marta gave up on love. It just wasn't practical to keep holding onto the hope that there was someone who would want a nearly thirty year old woman living alone with her brother and sister in law. So, when it showed up at the door of her boarding house in Denver Colorado, she treated him cordially, like she would any other boarder. He was in town for four days selling his cattle at auction and he showed up at her doorstep, dirty, dusty and ragged after a three day cattle drive from the Eastern plains with two hundred head of cattle. She smiled charmingly at him and wiped her hands on her apron. "Can I help you?" She spoke in a clipped quick manner that leant some bite to her voice even though her face smiled kindly. All of the moisture in Winslow Fletcher's mouth dried up as he looked at her, the way the green and gold in her eyes intertwined perfectly, the warm highlights in her deep brown hair that looked like cinnamon, the freckles on her cheeks. She was the most beautiful living thing he'd seen in years, and, having been in love before, he recognized the keen pain in his heart. He found himself stammering while his father stared at him in awe. Fletcher, as he was generally known, might not be the first one to speak, but, always had something to say. She tilted her head to the side and smiled, "Did you gentlemen need a room?" He kept staring, his mouth slightly open, and she looked away to his father. "Is he ok?"

Lou Fletcher gave his son a heavy smack on the back and the younger man coughed. "Yes, please, a room," he stammered.

She smiled brightly and stepped back to let them all in. "Sure thing, boys, come on in!" Once their hats and coats were hung on the rack she took them to the desk. "Just sign in here," she said, pushing a ledger towards them, "and did you want one room or two?"

"Two, please," the older man answered quickly, ignoring the pointed look from his son.

She handed over two brass keys, "My name's Marta, Marta Conlon. Miss Jeannie came down with consumption last winter and her son took her to a sanitarium in Colorado Springs to convalesce. She left the place in my care, along with my sister in law. If you need anything, you can come find me or Darcy. My brother will also be around once he gets off work."

"Winslow Fletcher, my sons and my father, Louis," he said, still caught off guard by her.

She smiled down at the two little blonde boys staring up at her with wide brown eyes. "I'm pretty sure that Darcy is making shortbread back in the kitchen. You two wouldn't happen to know anyone who could check it to make sure it's good, would you?" When she talked to them her accent came out thicker and thicker. She laughed at their eager faces and came around from behind the desk. "You gents head on upstairs, the blue room and green to the left at the top of the stairs. I'll bring you up some nice hot wash water once I have thoroughly spoiled these two's suppers. First, I guess we better get acquainted," she answered with a serious look and knelt in front of them. She spat in her palm and held it out, "I'm Marta." The boys each followed her and she grinned.

"I'm Jesse and he's Will," the littler one said, grabbing his brother's hand. "I'm five."

"What about you?" she asked the older one. When he just stared back she raised an eyebrow and stared into Will's deep brown eyes, "He your mouthpiece?" He nodded solemnly and she did too. "All right then." She winked at Jesse and sent them back to the kitchen. Lou headed up the stairs silently, but Fletcher stood, eyes locked with Marta, lost in each other's gaze. "You'll let me know if you need something?" she finally whispered, dropping her eyes, uncomfortable with the warmth pooling in her stomach and the fact that her hand really wanted to reach out and touch his. He felt familiar, the smell of dust and leather and saddle soap drew her in and made her want to bury her face in his jacket.

"Yes, Ma'am," he answered in a husky voice, feeling the same draw, wanting to touch her hair and find the source of her violet and sandalwood perfume. He pulled himself away from the desk slowly, like a string was holding him there, and once he was on the stairs she turned and felt the same tug as she followed to boys to the kitchen.

The boys followed the hall that the nice woman showed them and pushed open the kitchen door. Inside, a tiny blonde woman who only stood head and shoulders taller than Will with a big protruding belly was pulling trays of shortbread out of the big cast iron oven. "You got a baby in your tummy," Jesse declared

She smiled, "I sure do, who are you?"

"This is Will and Jesse Fletcher. They're staying with us for a few nights and I promised them a treat." Marta said, coming in behind them. The women sat the boys at a small table with a few rounds of shortbread and a glass of milk each while Darcy started preparing supper and Marta got water on to heat for washing up. Darcy watched Marta light up as she conversed easily with the little boys. Spot told her how Marta was with little ones, but it was something she rarely got to see for herself.

"You don't look like sisters," Jesse said. "People are always saying how much me and Will look alike."

The women grinned at each other, before Darcy said, "Well, we ain't sisters by birth."

"She married my brother so I'm stuck with her." Marta grinned wickedly and Darcy stuck her tongue out. "See, only a little sister would act like that." Both boys grinned at their childish behavior.

The boys were finishing their snack and putting their dishes in the sink when the back door opened and a man stepped in. He stowed his dinner pail on a nail by the door and joined them at the sink to wash his hands, glancing down at them through the corner of his silver blue eyes. "We taking in strays now?" he asked in a voice that was harsh and tough. After their laughing, slow talking father and easy going grandfather and the smiling, joking girls, his surly demeanor was a bit intimidating and they stepped back. He raised a brow that had a scar slicing through the center of it at them and smirked.

"Be nice," Marta warned, "their dad's a paying customer. Will and Jesse, my brother, Spot." He was so different here, the mountain sunshine and hard work loading wagons at the general store seemed like they soothed his soul. When she turned back, he had a mischievous smile on his face. "You two evah hoid of a sling shot?" Will perked up and stepped forward and Spot, seeing a familiar look in the kid's eyes, said, "All right, all right, blabbermouth, pipe down! I hear ya!" Will grinned and Spot couldn't stop himself from grinning back. "House rules is that youse gotta be able to tie ya own bootlaces in order to loin. Can ya?" He nodded emphatically and stuck his boot out to show the clumsily tied laces. Jesse hung his head, and all the air fell out of Will's sails. "He just has to practice and I'll teach him next time you come. Them's the rules, and you don't break Marta's rules." He glanced up at her in mock fear and she whipped the top of his head with the end of a dishtowel.

"Smartass," she muttered. "Help me with this wash water, and you can ask their father if you can teach him."

"Spot Conlon don't ask permission from nobody," he answered imperiously.

She whacked him again, "Get the damn bucket and get your ass upstairs with it!"

He shot a naughty grin at the little boys, before his turned on his mouth again, griping at the top of his lungs. "A man can't even kiss his wife around this place before he starts getting abused"

"No he can't!" she snapped. "Not when he's being a shit! Now get a move on!" Spot picked up the water, winking roguishly at Darcy as he wept out of the room.

She followed him out and heard Jess say, "I thought he was scary at first, but he's nice. She's a little scary though."

Marta chuckled to herself as Darcy said, "Don't tell him that. It'll hurt his feelings if he finds out she's still scarier than him."

He stalked up the stairs with Marta hot on his heels. "Why ya following me, can't trust me to give wash water to the only occupied rooms in the house?"

"The father is in the blue room, you take that one." The blush on her cheeks didn't escape his notice as she snatched the second bucket from his hand.

He grinned roguishly, "Oh, he's a lookah, is he? My, my we's blushing mighty hard…"

"Shut up!" she squealed. "No! He's…their father and you have to ask him before you let them shoot things!"

"Shoah, Marta, shoah, keep telling yaself dat." He knocked on the door before she could make another comeback, and, just like he guessed, she hustled away down the hall. He was curious to see the man who had the woman that he truly thought of as his sister after eighteen months of saying it, and ten years of living it but never saying it, blushing like a schoolgirl with a crush. The door opened and he all but stopped breathing at the sight of the man before him. He had a face that naturally fell into a lazy sort of a smile when it was relaxed. He was bronze skinned, blonde haired and tall with a loop of rope hanging from his belt like a cowboy in a penny novel. Just like Scat said. "Wash water for ya," he growled, covering his shock with grit and anger and held the bucket out.

"Much obliged," the cowboy drawled, taking the bucket and beginning to close the door.

"Umm, them your boys downstaiahs?"

"They causing trouble?"

"Nah," he smiled, "When you grow up the way Marta and I did you got low expectations when it comes to good behavior." His smile faded as his pride cringed. What was the world coming to that Spot Conlon was going to ask another man permission to do anything? But especially shoot a sling shot? His pride screamed and squirmed melodramatically in his head as the next words came out of his mouth. "Me sistah said I hadda talk to ya 'fore I show da oldah one me sling shot." He groaned internally. That was every bit as degrading and painful as he'd thought it would be.

The cowboy's smile broadened, "I ain't seen one of them in a long time. Damn! I used to be a crack shot before I took the window glass out on the house and my pop took it away."

"You wasn't much of a crack shot if you took out something you wasn't meaning to," Spot answered, thinking about the words a moment too late. Luckily, the easygoing man took no offense, instead he chuckled and agreed.. "But thanks, we'll be out back." He paused before he stalked away, "Me best friend, we grew up like brothahs, Marta raised us both, he pretty much couldn't talk. I saw it in da kid's eyes that he wasn't a big talkah." He suddenly realized he'd said way more than he intended to. It was true that the look in Will's eyes, that sad, misunderstood look reminded him too much of Trout, but why was he telling this guy that? Why did he say anything beyond, "does the kid talk?" He really couldn't say. Fletcher just looked so...nice! Something about him made words come tumbling out of Spot's mouth without his permission.

"He stopped talking when his mother passed."

Not only was he perfect for her, but he was a widower. Throwing motherless little boys Marta's way almost made this seem unfair, like catching fish out of a barrel. Like a poker game against Jack Kelly. "Yeah, so we'll be out back and no one will put an eye out or nothing."

"Yeah, that only happened that one time, right Spot?" Marta asked as she came back from the other room.

"Dat was not my fault!" he threw over his shoulder before shoving his hand out, "Nice meeting youse." The men shook hands and the younger one stalked away downstairs, leaving Marta and Fletcher looking at each other again.

She blushed and stared into his smiling brown eyes, hoping Spot hadn't said anything too terrible while was with the elder Fletcher. Those eyes were a quagmire, a beautiful swamp where she could get sucked in, never to return. She didn't really want to return, but she was terrified that he'd find out her secrets and would push her away. "I'm sorry about my brother. He...isn't the best with people unless he's allowed to boss them around."

"No harm done," Fletcher drawled. "Frankly, I'm happy to see y'all take an interest in the boys. Its been a rough few days for them. A rough few years really."

She smiled, trying not to look into those deep brown eyes again for fear of getting sucked in. "We grew up with lots of boys around, it feels homey to us. I promise, there's no inconvenience. We like having people to be bad influences on."

"I can't imagine you being a bad influence," he said in that growly voice that sent shivers up her spine. He grinned, "I grew up with four brothers, how many more of you are there than you and him?"

Her smile dimmed, "I'll let you get on with things before your wash water goes completely cold," she said stiffly. "Supper will be ready in an hour." She ran away with her face flaming. He couldn't know about their past, he'd get that look of pity that any of these country folks got when they heard about the orphans growing up on the big bad city streets all alone. Those were bad enough, but add in Scat and what Mick did to her…no he needed to just be another boarder passing through.


	10. Marta and her Cowboy 2

She tried to stay away from him, but between the boys and Spot, they were always being pushed together and every time they were near each other that string that they both felt pulling them together seemed to gain another thread, giving it even more strength. When she wasn't doing her work, she was playing marbles and telling daring tales of boys who lived as a big family in a big bunk room and jumped off of tall docks into a muddy river. Fletcher was always near by listening in with interest.

On the last day they were supposed to stay in Denver, he crept down to the kitchen where she was just putting the coffee on. "I wonder if you want to come with me today?" he said slowly and nervously.

She smiled and swallowed loudly, "What did you have in mind?"

"Come to the auction with me?"

She laughed, "I don't know anything about cows!"

"No," he smiled that wide, lazy smile and she about melted, "but after three days of watching you charm my kids like the Pied Piper, I wanted a little of your charm to myself."

"I…I have a lot of work to do here."

"No she doesn't," Darcy said, sweeping in and putting a pan on the stove. "She's entirely free. Please, take her wherever it is that she's trying not to go."

Marta fumed, "Darcy!"

"What time do I need to have her ready?" Darcy asked, ignoring Marta's protest.

Fletcher was taken aback by the forwardness of the younger woman, but stammered out, "Um, eight thirty?"

"She'll meet you up by the desk, don't worry. Now, shoo, let us get breakfast cooked." He grinned in thanks at Darcy and went over to the stables to take care of his horses.

Marta's hands went haughtily to her hips. "What the hell was that? What are you playing at?"

"I'm just doing what you are too chicken to do. That man is a dream, your dream, to be exact and he's interested in spending time alone with you and you were going to pass it up for chores that you don't even have! I'm not going to let you screw this up."

"Who said it was your job to take care of me, huh?" Marta growled. "You're not my mother! What, am I in your way? You trying to get rid of me and marry me off?" She knew she sounded ridiculous but was so worked up that she couldn't stop.

"No, I ain't your mother," Darcy snapped back, cracking eggs into a pan. "But I'm part of the only family you got. Don't you dare question how much I love you." When Marta's eyes flew wide open, Darcy stopped and sighed defeatedly. "Is it really so surprising?" she asked quietly. "You've been like an older sister to me since the train station, and I loved you for it. You never looked down on me even though you knew what I was. You gave your blessing for me to marry Spot. You let us stay with you when things were still too bad for him to be alone. Those are all things you do for someone you love. You and Spot are the most irritating people to care about, you know that? You're always waiting for me to bolt on you! I sure ain't going anywhere now! Not like this!" she yelped, motioning towards her swollen stomach. "So you two better get it through your thick skulls that you're stuck with me! And if you let him, you could also be stuck with that handsome, land-owning cowboy and his kids. So get the coffee going and then go put a nicer dress on."

She could have kept arguing, but Darcy was right. She put up with more than her fair share of both Marta and Spot threatening to leave so that she couldn't leave them first. She rarely heard words of affection from her husband because he didn't know how to say them Even though she was terrified, Marta had to go through with this outing. "I'm sorry," she murmured. "And I'm sorry I didn't raise him better so that you were treated better…I…"

Darcy waived her apology off. "You were just a kid yourself, Marta. You were just as broken. But you ain't unloveable." Marta ground coffee beens with the hand crank, listening as Darcy talked, wishing that what she said was true. "Don't you feel it, Marta? You too keep staring at each other. You can't help who you love. Look at me and Spot. When we got married, he still barely slept and jumped at his own shadow and I was a whore. He never says 'I love you,' but I know he means it in other things he says. He always tells me the truth, even if its 'get out of my way before I hit you.' He's not always Prince Charming…or ever…but he always is truthful with me, and for me, that is love. I trust him and you need to trust that Fletcher is a grown man who can make his own decisions about exactly how much poor, broken Brooklynite he can handle. You don't get to choose for him." A smile lit up her face, that was so pretty with the extra pounds of happiness and pregnancy. "Now, turn the bacon, because if I get too much bigger, my belly is going to sit on the actual stove burner and then go put on a different dress. I'm begging you." Marta smiled sadly and kissed the top of the blonde's head.

The cattle auction was nice, walking on the easy-going cowboy's arm, seeing how proud he was of his family business and hearing about the two thousand acre spread of land he and his father owned just little ways east of the city. She was just settling in to the fantasy, letting herself relax and enjoy herself, when his stock came up to the block and she realized just how much money Winslow Fletcher made on his cows. Knowing nothing about cows other than they were where milk and beef came from, she didn't understand how most of that profit was to pay himself back for feeding and caring for them, she only heard the numbers that were being called out. Sums of money that were more than she'd ever seen in her whole life being made by this man who was interested in her. She waited until he was occupied with the auction cashier to sneak away and lick her wounds.

In her room back at the boarding house, she watched from the window while Spot helped Will perfect his aim. Little boys, innocent little boys who wanted nothing more than a few kind words and a little attention, as always they were the balm for her battered soul. Spot eyed her cautiously as she stepped out, seeing the telltale signs that she'd been crying on her face and raised a brow. She shook her head and sat down on the steps next to Jesse who looked just as dejected as she felt. "What'sa mattah, kid?" she asked, laying the Brooklyn drawl on thick.

"Can't tie my boots yet," he answered sticking out his feet to show her his moccasin clad feet. "Don't even wear boots." A loop of rope like the one Fletcher had tied to his belt when they came in hung from his hand between his knees.

"What's that, you got there?"

"Lasso," his voice picked up in hopefulness and he raised his brown eyes, also just like his father's to her face. She was done for right then and there.

"You wanna show me how to use that thing, while those big boys play with their pea shooters?" He practically dragged her away from Spot and Will, immediately showing her that for a five year old, he was really skilled with that loop of rope, swinging it over his head in a wide swoop and then letting it go and roping the the waste bin in front of him time and time again. He talked her through it, showed her what to do and handed the rope over, but she was quickly tangled in it's loops. Again and again, Jesse showed her, but she never once got even close to the the trash bin. Spot and Will came over to join Jesse in laughing at her as she went to gather her rope again. Suddenly, she was on her duff being dragged backwards and all three boys were cackling hysterically. She hardly knew what was happening before she was very gently, a sharp contrast to the painful haul along the dirt road, lift to her feet and turned around to look into the smiling face of Winslow Fletcher. She smiled before she could stop herself, his face just so charming and wonderful to look at that she couldn't help it. He leaned in and his warm dry lips pressed to hers. She wanted to kiss back, kiss him for all she was worth! Fall down on the hard packed road and kiss him for all of the kisses she hadn't been given in her life, but when he pulled away, she didn't see his face. Those deep brown eyes were deep earthy green and his neat blonde curls were thick and messy and chocolate brown. A short sob squealed out of her throat and she slapped him hard. She slapped him for roping her, for kissing her without permission and for reminding her too much of Scatter. When her hand dropped, he was back to looking like Fletcher...Fletcher with a big red handprint on his face. A couple of deep breaths later, never unlocking her angry hazel eyes from his shocked brown ones, she wiggled free of the rope and ran inside.

In the safe confines of her room she cried again. She couldn't do this. She would be destroyed if she hurt him. She would never recover if he left her. But, at the same time, after only a few days, she felt like her life would never be right without him in it and that terrified her. She was Kisser Gatcyk. She WAS Brooklyn. Brooklyn didn't need anyone. It didn't need love. A soft knock on her door made her breath catch in her throat. "Marta?" he asked quietly. "You aren't hurt are you? I didn't mean to..."

"I'm fine," she snapped testily. "Go away Mr. Fletcher. You don't want to be messed up in my life. Go take care of those boys before Spot starts teaching them dirty words or something. Don't think he won't."

"Are you mad that I roped you? Or mad that I kissed you?"

Neither, she answered in her head. "Both! Now leave me be!"

"Darcy said y'all were going to some kind of dance tonight. Can I escort you?"

She groaned and buried her face in her palms. She was being pretty plain and he still couldn't take the hint. She was bad for him, bad for everyone. He needed to hightail his delightfully toned behind back to his beautiful land and stay the hell away from her! "I'm not going!"

"Yes, she is!" Darcy yelled up the stairs and Marta cursed the thin walls. "We're leaving at seven thirty! You're welcome to come along!"

"Darcy!" Marta roared as the blonde chuckled to herself.

She still hadn't opened the door and rested her face against it. "So," he said quietly, and it felt like her forehead might actually be resting right against his, like the door was no thicker than a sheet of paper, "I'll see you at seven thirty then." She didn't answer.

At seven fifteen, Marta slipped out the back door without the others. She had to go, she was part of the group of women planning the stupid dance for the neighborhood. She wished she could have stayed home. Hopefully Fletcher would get the clue when she didn't meet them at the desk to walk over together and wouldn't come. She scowled, hopefully Darcy could keep her stupid mouth shut for a few minutes to give Marta a little peace. She didn't understand the girl's stubborn tenacity when it came to forcing her and Fletch together.

Hours later, the dance was in full swing and Marta finally got a chance to find Spot and Darcy and take a load off for a bit. Spot was at a table playing cards with some of the local boys, and from the conceited smirk on his face was hustling them, while Darcy sat clapping along. She smiled sadly as Marta sat down beside her. "This is a nice party!" Marta smiled back and scanned the crowd. Musicians stood on a maskeshift stage playing their hearts out and it pulled at her heartstrings.

"Trout would have loved this," she said sadly, watching them play. "That boy could pick up an instrument and have it figured out in a matter of minutes." She sighed and Darcy rubbed at her swollen middle. "Where's the cowboy at? Did he finally get a clue?"

Darcy pointed, "Nope, he's been watching you all night, waiting for you to sit down." Fletcher was making his way towards them. As much as she wanted to glare at him, she found herself puckering her mouth so as not to smile instead. Damn, if that man wasn't stubborn as a mule. He wasn't giving up on her. He held his hand out to her and she went with him willingly, her face burning.

His hands were warm despite the cold air and rough from years of work. She found herself staring and them, at the dirt pressed into the grooves, at the cracks and ripped cuticles, and his immaculately clean nail beds, like he spent hours scrubbing them just to impress someone. "See something interesting down there?" he asked quietly. "Never thought I'd have to remind a woman that my eyes are up here." His kind, teasing voice sent shivers down her spine and she laughed. His blonde brow furrowed, not sure how to take her after all of her waffling.

She stepped out of hold and over to the side of the rest of the dancers, not even noticing that she didn't let his hand drop. "I'm sorry, I just...you can tell a lot about a man by his hands." He held his hand up, taking her's along for the ride since she couldn't seem to make herself let go, and inspected them both.

"You reckon?" he asked. "Well, Ma'am, what is it that you can see from these dirt paws?" He put his hand back around her waist and began to move her to the music again as she pondered.

"Hard work," she answered, running her thumb over his knuckles. "Not much of a fighter..."

"Hang on now," he objected with that easy going grin still plastered on his face. "I can hold my own!"

She chuckled, "I'm sure you can, Mr. Fletcher..."

"Fletcher," he corrected.

She nodded and repeated, "Fletcher." She took a deep breath and considered her words carefully. "I'm just used to a different breed of man. The kind who gets through life on bloody knuckles and black eyes." He turned their hands over again, looking at her knuckles but not so much as raising and eyebrow to the scars there.

"Looks like you can hold your own too," he answered. He caught her in that warm quicksand gaze that sucked her in and held her still. That made her feel warm and safe, but that in and of itself made her panic. She couldn't do this. She couldn't give in. She couldn't ruin him too. So, she shoved him.

"I'm no lady, so if thats what your looking for you might as well beat it!" she spat. "I'm a girl that no one ever wanted, and I ruined the ones who tried. You should be smart and head back to your big beautiful ranch and forget about me." She gave him another shove for good measure and ran out of the room.

Fletch was a step behind her when a hand on his shoulder stopped him. "You don't wanna do that," Spot said, staring after her. "Not unless you fancy the thought of a left jab straight to yer kisser." The cowboy stared, unfamiliar with the slang. Spot sighed in exasperation and scrubbed his face. "You mess with her when she's all riled up like that and you'll end up with a few less teeth in your head. You let me take this one." He clapped the blonde cowboy on the shoulder with a tight smile and took off after his sister through the dark streets, quickly gaining on her and grabbing her hand, pulling her into him and wrapping her tightly in his arms. "Stop! You can't keep running, Marta. Not from this," he whispered in her ear. He tipped her chin up so she'd look him in the eye, "A cowboy, Kiss. A cowboy with a big, dumb smile and a lasso…You can't tell me you forgot."

"Of course I didn't forget," she said, pulling her face away. She'd never forget that letter from Scat, the words were burned in the back of her eyelids. "That makes it even worse! Its what he wanted, and Fletch, he's perfect…"

"So, what more proof do you want?" he asked. "The motherless little boys and the house in the middle of no wheres aren't enough? What about the fact that he's so easy to talk to that you tell him your life story before you even realized you was talking? You can't run away from this! Brooklyn don't back down! Brooklyn don't run! You can't hide from this, not from a guy who practically has 'Fall in love with me, Marta Gatcyk' tattooed on his forehead. Give the damn cowboy a chance, Marta." He smiled and ducked so his face was near hers, "Just don't call him Cowboy. Evah." She smiled weakly, wiping the tears from her face.

"When did you get so smart?"

"I always been the smartest thing to come outta Brooklyn, New York. Just 'cause you's too much of a..."

"Choose your next words very wisely, Spot Conlon," she warned, narrowing her eyes.

He swallowed, "Too much of a mush mush to appreciate my charm don't mean it ain't there. Now go, get back there and talk to him before that stupid smile falls off his face." He draped an arm over her shoulder and began to walk her back. "For the record, you never ruined me. I was ruined to begin with. You did nothing but make me better than the rotten piece I trash I am. I'd be dead a couple of times over if it weren't for you. So, don't sell yourself short."

She looked up at him in wonder before masking it and doing what they did best, "Awwwwww, Spot Conlon's turning soft on me! You big mush! What's going to happen when the baby gets here, huh? Are you just going to melt into a big squishy puddle?" He rolled his eyes and gave her a playful shove in front of him.

"Shaddup, Marta and go catch your man before he decides to rope someone else like a cow."


	11. A Cowboy's Hat

The door of the Brooklyn Newsboys Lodging House swung open and in sauntered Jack Kelly with a cocky smile on his face. It was spring of 1899 and Marta Gatcyk looked up from the bookkeeping and smirked, resting her elbow on the desk top and her cheek on her hand as he approached. Her cheeks hurt from how hard she was biting them to keep from grinning. Back when she was herself, when she could let go enough to flirt and mingle with the boys and have a type she was drawn to, Jack Kelly would have been exactly that type. Cocky, charismatic, bold and carefree, he would have given her beau, Scatter, a run for his money. "I swear it Marta, you's the prettiest thing in Brooklyn, and you keep gettin' prettier."

Her type or no, he was about a decade too late, but that didn't stop him from having a horribly obvious crush on the Brooklyn House Manager, nor her from enjoying the attention. She smiled at him, batting her eyelashes. "Jacky, how do you always know exactly when I need a pick me up?" she crooned.

He shrugged, in a poor attempt at modesty. "It's a gift. A talent that I am happy to soivice you with, Miss Marta," he answered, leaning up against her desk, grinning. The kid oozed charm out of his very pores as his smile turned long and lazy, seeming to hang on his face by its corners. "Any othah soivices I can do ya foah while I'm in the neighborhood?" He waggled his eyebrows at her. "Nevah could understand why there ain't men fighting tooth and nail to get a piece of that."

"And yet here I sit, surrounded by boys but not a beau in sight," she answered him with a sad smile before an idea bloomed in her head and the sadness was replaced by a wicked smirk. "What kind of services do you have in mind Jacky?"

His body jolted upright from the relaxed slouch he was so good at and his deep hazel eyes searched her face. Marta was known for not pulling punches or hiding her feelings, but when she wanted to she had a poker face like no other and she made sure, at that moment, that her face gave away nothing. "Huh?" His voice cracked like a younger teenager and he had to clear his throat before he went on. "What..uh…I dunno…anything you want?"

 _Gotcha!_ She thought, and slowly pulled herself up to standing and moving out from behind the desk. He watched her every move as she smoothed down her blouse, letting her hands, and therefore his eyes linger just under her breasts. Holding back her giggles as he stammered and nearly drooled was getting more and more difficult by the moment. Her hands kept moving slowly down her body, pausing and lingering again at her hips and his tongue was practically hanging out of his mouth like a dog's. As comical as his abject adoration was, she couldn't deny how good it felt to have a man…well a male at least…give her more than a passing glance. At twenty-five, she had accepted that she would likely forever be a spinster. All the men her age were either already married or were confirmed permanent bachelors for good reason. Besides, she was too busy with the motherless boys of Brooklyn to go looking. At least, that's what she told herself. "Anything I want, huh?" she mused quietly, slinking closer to him and behind him. He was one of the few boys who she wasn't taller than, which made the illusion easier to play up as she circled behind him. "You mean that? Anything?"

He shifted uneasily as she draped her arms over his shoulders, putting her mouth next to his ear. "What…uh…what do you got in mind?"

She grinned wickedly and let her breath spread over his ear, feeling the goosebumps pop up on his skin. "First, we'd need to get you outta those clothes," she answered, pulling the cowboy hat over his head and placing it on her own, "and then I'll show you how a cowgirl tames a stallion. We'll need some ropes…some whips, and I think I have some spurs in my room. It will be the ride of my life."

His face was white with panic and he kept glancing at he as best he could out of the corner of his eye. Suddenly, he pulled away, "I..uh..forgot something on the docks, but we'll get right back to that…cowgirl…thing…when I get back?"

She slid her fingers across the brim of the hat and winked at him, sashaying towards her rooms. "I'll be waiting, Cowboy." He groaned and relaxed for just a moment and she worried that she was going to have to get more graphic, but he seemed to remember the spurs at the last moment and took off running, leaving her to break down into giggles, flicking the hat back further on her head.

Footsteps approached out of the shadows and Spot's surly voice called out, "Glad that's over, I might not eat for a week with them pictures running through my head." He shuddered, and Marta laughed even harder. Tears ran down her face as Spot and Trout drew closer. "Really? You hadda ruin cowboys foah us? I ain't nevah gonna be able to look at that stupid hat again without feeling sick."

Trout smiled his wary smile, but his bright eyes twinkled with amusement as he made a few simple gestures. She grinned at the boy, "I know, I never saw him run so fast either!"

Spot scowled and grimaced with disgust. "Where the hell do you come up with this shit anyway? Every time he comes to flirt with you, I think you can't possibly outdo the last time…and then you do."

She grinned, "You hear lots of interesting things when you're friends with a nun who keeps herself humble by listening in on confession day. Constance saves the good stories for me to use on Jacky Boy."

He rolled his silver blue eyes and smirked, "And you wonder why the fellahs don't come a running."

She straightened up, all of the laughter disappearing like smoke in the wind. Trout shoved him, glaring at him for making such a crass comment. They both knew she gave up, that she had decided at some point that Scatter was the only man she would ever love and usually tried to keep her from dwelling on him, but sometimes Spot was too blunt for his own or anyone else's good. She turned back to them, her hazel eyes sad. "I don't wonder, not at all, Spot. You two and your boys are the only men in my life, all the company I'm supposed to have." She slapped the brim of his cap down like she did when he was a little kid and tried to smile, "You two are all I got and all I need. Now, beat it so I can get my work done." They turned and left, leaving her alone in the lobby again. She gave a heavy sigh for a moment, knowing she was supposed to be alone, that it was better that she was alone, until the thought of Jack's face as he ran out the door brought that wicked smile back to her face. "Spurs," she chuckled to herself. "That was great. 'How a cowgirl breaks a stallion!"' She cackled and kept herself amused through the rest of her day, wearing Jack's hat the whole time. She sent Haystack back to Manhattan with it the next day, because what is a cowboy without his hat?

 _Dedicated to Joker. She knows why. Love ya, Coconut._


	12. Return to New York, Part 6

She felt eyes on her as she drank her tea in the hotel restaurant. At first, she convinced herself that it was just Skittery who always seemed to be around but never really seemed to be doing much of anything, but the more she looked up and found him actually setting tables and straightening the linens and caring for the other customers she knew it wasn't his gaze she felt prickling at the back of her neck. "May I join you?" a low, contrite voice asked. JoAnna looked up into the blue eyes of Carlos Fuentes and suddenly everything she'd felt made sense.

She studied him, standing there next to her little table, his hat in his hands. The dark circles left from the drinking binge he went on while Sophie was upset with him lingered under his eyes, but overall he looked hundreds of thousands times better than he had the last time she saw him. The booze had been given a chance to filter out of his system, but more than that, he didn't look like a man who shouldered a heavy burden anymore. Guilt still weighed on him, but not nearly as heavily as the night he spent in their suite, nor the morning after. Still, he'd earned the guilt he was still wrestling, she knew. He was there trying to fix what he did, but it might be too little and far too late. "I told you not to let him sit with what you said too long. I warned you, yet here you are nearly two weeks later talking to the wrong Cooper?" she murmured.

He sighed and sat back flicking a stubborn strand of ebony hair out of his eye. "I never meant to let it lie so long. I got back to my place later and Sophie was gone. Then Blink went missing and I helped with that mess and Sophie came back. . ."

"The way I heard this story there was quite a bit more tequila involved," she interrupted dryly, taking a sip of her tea. He glared at her, but it had no effect. She lived in the midst of a quartet of Brooklynites, his stare didn't scare her. Plus, she felt like she knew him somehow, maybe because she was so close to his mother or because he was so close to Eli while she was out of his life, she wasn't sure, but somehow she understood him innately. "What is it you want, Mr. Fuentes?"

He swallowed thickly, glowering at the table. " _Ayudame, por favor,"_ he mumbled.

"Help you with what?"

He turned his blue eyes up to her cognac hued ones, "I'm no good at friendships. I'm not sure I even knew Eli and I were friends until he turned his back. I've never apologized for anything." He paused, picking at the fine, pressed linen table cloth. "But I owe him. I just don't know how."

She set her cup down and sat forward with her palms flat on the table top, a wave of fiercely protective strength washing through her. "Why? Why does it matter if a man you may never see again forgives you?" She wouldn't let him back into their lives if this was some paltry excuse. She might understand him, but she didn't necessarily trust him.

"He protected me for years, never let anyone know that he knew me, sold on my territory so that no one else would come sniffing around and get word back to Race. I don't forget that kind of loyalty."

She rolled her eyes, these boys and their big speeches about loyalty that always came just before or just after they betrayed one another. She crossed her arms over her chest and slouched as much as her corset would let her. "I'm sorry, I fell asleep because that was so predictable. Why do you care if my husband is mad at you and leaves without ever reconciling?"

The skip trace stared at her, all heat gone from his gaze, leaving only a heart wrenching sincerity. His concern that he'd lost his only friend blatant. When he got the courage to answer her, his voice was low, merely a rumble. "He was the first good person who gave me a chance and I can't let him leave without meeting the second." He looked up at her, the unbridled fear pulsing to the surface. "If you can't do it for me then do it for Sophie. She wants to meet all three of you. Don't punish her for my sins."

Skittery came over warily, obviously defensive, "Everything ok here, Jo?" he asked, glaring at the Spaniard. She came in nearly everyday at this time and had a cup of tea all by herself while Eli and Rosie did their lessons up in the suite. No one had bothered her until that day.

She smiled at the waiter, "It's fine, Skittery, thank you." She checked her watch and stood up. "They'll be down any minute, Mr. Fuentes, so unless you fancy a fight, I'd suggest you make yourself scarce."

"JoAnna, por favor," he pleaded.

She shrugged, "I'll do what I can. Maybe he'll do it for me, maybe he'll do it for Sophie...maybe he'll do it so he can punch you in the face in private. I don't know. Would Tuesday work?" He nodded fervently. "All right, I'll do my best, but if only I show up, you'll know why."

His brows raised, "He wouldn't let you bring the kid?"

"To see the man who insulted her so thoroughly that she headbutted you in the groin? No, he might not. Carlos, it wasn't just one blow that lead you here, you've got a lot of work to do if this friendship really means that much to you."

He nodded without raising his eyes, "Tuesday then? Seven o'clock?"

She smiled tightly and shrugged her shoulders again, "I'll do what I can."

Tuesday came and Eli was a mess. He stood in front of that big picture window in their suite, glaring out at the streets below while JoAnna struggled to put a dress on Rosie. The little girl was babbling in her animated way, excited about seeing "Yotz" to thank him for her dolls and to meet his friend. She was such a personable child, thrilled to meet everyone. "Rosie, please stop wiggling!" Jo pleaded as the button she'd been trying to button for the last two minutes slipped from her fingers again because of the child's frantic movement.

"Mami, I go! I go Yotz and he lem!" she cried.

Jo laughed, "Not with your dress undone you won't! Now come here and stand still a moment so I can button you up!" Rosie did her best, but looked over her shoulder at her Mami with a wrinkle in her little nose. "What is that look for?"

The girl tugged on her mother's sleeve and shook her head, saying something, though Jo only understood the word "dress." She drew with her finger on the bodice of JoAnna's orange dress. "Ohzie dess, bobby dess."

Jo smiled and kissed her soft cheek before turning Rosie around and finally slipping the last two buttons into place. "My party dress? With the roses?" Rosie nodded, bouncing on the balls of her feet excitedly. "That's too fancy for this, Lovey. It's too fancy for everything. It was very nice of Miss Clara to buy it for me, but I'm afraid it wont see much use." She stood up, squealing in shock as her back ran into something strong and sturdy. Thick arms wrapped around her waist.

"Wwwwwear your p-p-party dress," he said lowly, nuzzling his face into her neck. "Mmmmmmmight as well."

"Oh, so you're coming now?" she snapped, pulling out of his embrace. He'd been sulking about it ever since she told him and between his childish behavior and the close confines of the hotel suite, she wasn't in the mood for any of his attempts at changing her mind or turning her head. She loved her man with every fiber of her being, but that didn't mean she had to like him all the time, especially after nearly a full month of constant togetherness. "I thought for sure Rosie and I were going alone."

He growled a bit, trying to pull her back to him, "Mmmmaybe C-c-c-..." he broke off, grunting in frustration at everyone and their names he couldn't pronounce easily. "C-c-c...lara should wwwatch R-rosie."

"No, no!" Rosie yelped. She stamped her foot and pulled on his hand, speaking slowly and as clearly as she could. "I danno Yotz my day-days! I go, see he lem!"

His brow furrowed as he watched his little girl's lip tremble. "She's not like us, Eli," Jo said quietly. "You and I could go ages seeing no one but each other and hardly speaking. She needs people. You can't take this away from her."

He rolled his shoulders as he mulled it over and sighed. 'Fine,' he signed sharply.

She smiled, pulling him down by his collar, "Thank you." She kissed him until his hands started to roam and then pulled away with a sly grin. "None of that, Mr. Cooper," she chided. "Go put a clean shirt on. We need to go." He grumbled under his breath and begrudgingly did as she asked while she smoothed Rosie's hair back.

"Bobby dess, Mami," Rosie ordered.

Jo chuckled, "Just this once." She followed Eli into the master bedroom of the lavish suite and began unbuttoning the bodice of her dress. As soon as it slipped down her arms, Eli was plastered to her back, kissing her neck and unpinning her hair. "Eli," she moaned as his mouth found the spot on her neck that made her knees go weak underneath her.

"Sssss'ay wi' mmmmme," he breathed into her skin. That was all it took to ruin it, to let her see what he was doing. Her eyes flew opened and she stepped away, going to the wardrobe where her green silk dress hung and put it on without another word or another glance his way. It was low and sleazy and cowardly, what he tried to pull. She yanked her dress over her head and struggled to button the buttons up her back alone, but then his hand was there doing it for her. She swiped her hair pins off of the bed and hurried fixed her hair, refusing to look at him. "Jo..."

"Go see that Rosie is putting her boots on." Her voice was quiet and cold. He stood still another moment, waiting to see if he could gain her attention, but quickly gave in and did as she asked.

Too soon they were in the Toy District and climbing the stairs to Carlos and Sophie's small apartment. Just before she knocked on the door she turned to him, "I know its never had to be said before, but if you can't find something nice to say, then stay quiet or talk to Sophie." His thick brow fell low over his eyes. "I mean it Eli, please don't start a fight. He's trying to make it right. Give him a chance please." She knew this would have been hard for him no matter what. Even if he and Carlos were on the best of terms he would have been nervous meeting someone new, but having the new person be the only one in a room who he was willing to open up to was likely terrifying to her shy man. She turned to knock and his hand wrapped around her free one tightly, drawing a smile from her tense face.

The door opened revealing a very flustered looking Carlos. He opened his mouth to greet them, but before a single sound could escape, Rosie pushed her way to him and was talking so fast and excitedly that no one knew what she was saying. She bounced up and down, her little voice toning up and down merrily as she expressed her thanks with wide arm gestures and small darting hugs around the Spaniard's legs. Just like in the hotel room that morning, he held his arms up like there was a rat climbing his legs and looked at Jo and Eli in utter bewilderment. Jo watched in smug satisfaction for a moment, he deserved a little discomfort at Rosie's hand, before she stepped forward and pulled the girl back, kneeling down to her level. "Remember, slow and steady, Love. They won't understand you unless you slow down."

She nodded, never taking her eyes off of the object of her adoration and pulled her dolls for her pocket in one hand. "Danno, Yotz," she said, signing as she spoke, her green eyes shinning earnestly. "Danno, my day-days."

Carlos turned questioning eyes to JoAnna and she raised a brow, wondering what he would do. His eyes turned to Eli, who was saddling him with a glare that would melt most men, daring him to make a mistake again. He swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing a bit, and crouched in front of Rosie. "De nada, Cabrita. I...I'm sorry about your strawberry. I didn't understand. Were the ones I sent good?" She cocked her head to the side, having almost no memory of him stealing a berry from her two weeks prior.

She shrugged and mumbled something before turning her attention to Sophie. "Say you lem?" He turned to see what she was pointing at and smiled, softening as his eyes fell on the blonde behind him.

"Yeah, that's my friend. Rosie, this is Sophie. Sophie, this is Rosie, Jo, and Eli."

"Nice to meet you all." Sophie murmured, squirming in the same kind of discomfort that Jo felt. She wished she had worn her normal dress, she felt so out of place and uncomfortable, like when the boys used to call her Miss Park Avenue. Rosie stepped forward, her words a jumble of syllables that put a confused smile on Sophie's face "Day days?" She inquired, looking to Eli or Jo for a translation.

"The dolls Carlos got her." Jo replied, as she scooped Rosie up protectively. She didn't think that either Sophie or Carlos would mean to say anything hurtful again, but Rosie was still quick to strike after her time at the orphanages and if she reacted, Eli would too. It would start a chain reaction that she had no hope of containing. "We're working on her speech but it's only been a few weeks." She and Rosie shared a smile, they had learned a lot from one another in a very short time.

Sophie seemed to stop her fidgeting and an air of ease came over the women of the group. Her certainty that Sophie and Carlos might be judging her for showing up in such a ridiculously out of place dress melting away like smoke. Carlos moved towards Sophie , slipping an arm around her waist and and looking down into her eyes. They really were darling together and JoAnna squeezed Eli's hand and felt him press a kiss to the back of her head. Sophie smoothed her dress and hair and then hurried over to the stove, "Dinner should be ready in a few moments."

Rosie followed touching the soft cotton of Sophie's dress. "Pink!" She cried gleefully. She ran back and forth between the two women speaking animatedly and at length. "Bobby dess! Say a bobby!"

Jo felt Eli squeeze her hand again and looked back to see him fighting a smile. He wanted so bad to keep up the sullen stare off, but Rosie wouldn't allow such behavior at her dinner party.

"Yes, everyone has their party dress on, Love," Jo said, smiling apologetically at Sophie. She could tell that the woman was intimidated and knew from experience that some of it was her dress's fault. "Rosie insisted that I wear my party dress to meet her friends and have this lovely party you've put together," she said brightly. Rosie nodded emphatically and continued to coo about how pretty Sophie's pink "party dress" was. Jo met gazes with Carlos wishing she could ask him if he'd prepared Sophie for Eli. He was so raw that she wasn't sure how well he would do with any slip of the tongue.

"Dinner is ready! Do you like meatloaf, Rosie?" Sophie called and Rosie followed her, still talking as if everyone could understand her. Sophie, bless her heart, played along beautifully.

Jo followed the pretty blonde into the kitchen to help leaving Carlos and Eli standing staring one another down. Eli watched his old friend carefully, weighing years of trust and companionship against the cold words about Eli's biggest insecurities as well as stealing from and slighting his child multiple times. "Ya gonna talk to me and tell me off or just glare at me all night?" Carlos asked. Eli shrugged, sneaking a glance past Carlos to where Jo was talking with Sophie. Once he was sure that she was occupied, he locked eyes with the Spaniard and jerked his head towards the door.

Out in the hall, Eli crossed his arms over his chest and waited a second while Carlos watched him like he might explode at any moment. Truthfully, he wasn't sure he wouldn't. "You can b-b-buy my k-k-k-kids fffffforg-g-givness. Nnnnnot mine."

Carlos hung his head just an inch, but refused to let his shoulders fall. "How do I get yours then?"

Eli shrugged, "Mmmmmmaybe you d-don't."

"Thats bullshit, Cabron and you know it." That was the last straw for Eli, his punches weren't great left handed, but he could throw an elbow and his elbow connected with the side of Carlos head with a satisfying thud. "Fuck!" Carlos bellowed, bent over cradling his head.

"Even," Eli growled, yanking him upright and inspecting the bruise forming on his temple. "She's a b-b-baby. I can t-t-t-take it, lllllleave Ro-rosie alone."

Carlos shoved him back and threw a punch of his own right to Eli's gut that had him folded over on himself. "You can take it, huh?" Carlos asked, pacing around him, rubbing his ear. It took every bit of Eli's concentration to not release the contents of his stomach on his own boots. "That why I made one fucking comment with my head still hanging in the toilet and you shut down? At least Rosie fucking fought back! She didn't just give me the silent treatment."

A grin split his face and he rested his elbows against his knees, laughing quietly. "You sssssswallow your nnnnnnnnuts back down yet?"

Carlos stopped his pacing and crouched in front of Eli, staring in awe at the grin he wore before a similar one spread on his face. "Your kid has a hard skull, but I managed." He offered a hand and Eli took it, wincing as his muscles protested the movement. "You got that all worked out now? Ready to sit and eat with Sophie like a man?"

Eli's sore stomach protested the thought, "Ssssit, yeah. Eat? D-d-d-dunno, gimme mmmminute." Carlos pulled his arm over his shoulder and he grunted in discomfort, but accepted the help, and together they went back in the door where a beautiful, big eyed brunette was waiting for them with her hands on her hips. Eli ducked behind Carlos who started laughing.

"What is wrong with you, estupido? You're eighteen feet tall, you can't hide! Are you four?" Eli waggled his eyebrows and looked back at Jo, who instead of looking angry was fighting a grin of her own.

She chuckled as she approached them, taking Eli's face in her hands. "I guess if no one is taking their ball and going home, then I can't be mad. Did you two ruffians have fun scuffling in the hallway?"

Sophie came out looking equally disapproving, "You're both lucky the neighbors are already scared of Carlos and won't call the cops on you. Go wash up and get to the table."

A/N: This one has been a long time coming! This is the conclusion to the return to New York story...well, conclusion is probably pushing it, but it at least leaves Carlos and Eli on good terms and ties in well to Joker's chapter her Chronicles of the night before Sophie and Carlos' wedding when Sophie is remebering this night (which is what prompted this whole thing, lol). Don't worry, I'm just going to keep dumping my little plot bunnies here since I can't seem to quit Trout and Marta.


	13. Return to St Xavier's

Leaving the Lodging House was easy at first. Nips joined the navy and Trout got a job loading crates to and from ships at the very docks he used to play on as a child. At first it was comforting because the boys were close by. If he really needed something said, he could easily get one of them to understand him, but he didn't last long. He had to remain mute for the sake of his self esteem, but more than that, now that his entire day was spent lifting and hoisting crates with a pulley, his arm that was broken during the strike hurt and ached constantly. His fingers would tingle and his shoulder and elbow were in constant agony. Some days he couldn't even hold a pencil with that hand by the time he got off of work. After being sent away for not being able to pull his weight again, he made his way across the bridge. Race got him a job playing in the band at Medda's at night, his ability to play just about anything with very little practice time helped that since he could sub in for any player Medda happened to be missing that night. Nights that she didn't need him for that he helped with props and sets and curtains, but it wasn't enough. He started leaving the theater after the show and heading straight to the fishing piers to help unload the catch when the fishing boats came in during the wee hours of the morning. He was always the first one there and tossing the fish man to man let him feel normal. Working nights seemed to suit him since he was such a light sleeper anyway. One morning, though, on his walk back to the boarding house he was living at he found a paper advertising a professor who claimed to be able to teach even the worst stutterer to speak clearly, and he knew he needed it.

He showed up at the pharmacy where the ad said he could make an appointment with the man who could fix him and was told to come back the next day to be given a time and place to meet him. The next week he sat at the specified lunch counter and waited until finally a small, rat faced man sat down next to him. "You're Cooper?" Eli nodded. "Speak," the weasel-ish man demanded. "I need to know what I'm working with.

"I-I-I C-c-c-c-c...C-c-c-c-c-c...oooooop-p-p..."

The man whistled. "This should be interesting to see. I've never had a patient with a stutter so bad. It will cost extra to give you the kind of intensive treatment that you need. The injection portion will cost you sixty dollars and the retraining afterward will be another eighty." His heart sank. He hadn't saved that much in his entire time as a newsboy and he only had twenty dollars saved up. The man seemed to understand and held his hand out to shake. "Come back to the druggist when you have the sixty and we'll get started. I'm sure we can work something out when it comes to the retraining fee." He shook the man's hand and went to the Ben to see if David would help him the way he helped Race, Blink and Mush get on their feet.

David had nothing, but Mush told him that Skittery was working as a bus boy at an Italian joint a few blocks away, maybe he could get on there. Skittery pulled through and he worked at Emilio's bussing tables and washing dishes whenever he wasn't at Medda's. He went to either Irving Hall or Emilio's everyday around eleven, whether for the lunch shift or for the matinee, sometimes switching mid-day and somedays staying at the same place until closing. Then he went to the boarding house he had a tiny closet of a room in and slept for a few hours before he woke in the wee hours of the morning to unload the daily catch. Most days he got a few more hours of sleep, but other's, Medda needed things fixed or needed him to practice a new song because one of her regular musicians was out sick and he had to go to the theater early. His body desperately wanted to sleep, but he needed to fix himself. He needed to be more. Every person aside from Race who ever made him feel like the way he was was an ok way to be was gone. The number of people who had the patience to wait for him to write, or wait for him to stammer out a few ill pronounced syllables was dwindling. The world wasn't going to slow down to help him, so he needed to speed up, and if it meant a few months of sleep deprivation, then so be it. So he worked himself stupid until he finally saved up enough for the first round of treatments and went back to the pharmacy.

The day of the treatment he begged Race to take off from The Benjamin to stay with him since the doctor insisted he would need someone with him afterwards. Together they stood outside of the apartment that the doctor directed them to meet him at. Race stubbed his cigar and looked warily at the building. "You sure about this, Trout?" Eli looked too. He had never been more sure about anything. He needed this. He needed normal. The smile he gave Race somehow managed to hide the nerves that still managed to seep through.

"I nnnnnnn...nnnnneeeeee." He paused and scrubbed at his face in frustration. "C-c-c-c-c-c...c-c-c-c-can...n't." It was with frustrated exhale that he gave up.

"You need it, huh?" Race asked quietly. "Can't keep going like this?" Trout nodded, his face red with embarrassment. "I ain't forgot the signs, you ain't gotta talk to me."

'Can't rely on you and Skittery to get me a job every time. Need to get a job. Alone. Get a girl. Alone. Can't do that like this.'

Race grinned, "What, you mean you don't want me comin on dates and back to your place to interpret foah you?"

"Ugh!" Trout groaned aloud, punching Race in the arm so hard that he fell sideways laughing. 'Please? If it's bad we'll leave.' He made his x over his heart and clasped his hands. Race had to understand how important this was. "P-p-p-peeeeeeees?"

Race rolled his eyes, "Awright. Lets go. Quit it with the damn puppy eyes."

Upstairs in the specified apartment, the weasely little man was waiting for them. He told Race to wait on a ratty sofa while he led Eli into one of the bedrooms and had him lay down on a small cot before he started tying him down. "NO," Eli said sternly, pulling away. "No hhhhan c-c-cups."

The man stared him down. "You remember what I told you? I'm going to inject you and you're going to convulse. It's going to force your brain to shut down a bit and then we can reteach it how to talk correctly. This is part of it. If you don't want it anymore then I'll give you your sixty dollars back and you can be on your way, just as you have been, but if you want to keep going with the treatment then I will restrain you. You could harm yourself during the convulsions otherwise. Which will it be?" He laid down and nodded, closing his eyes against the claustrophobic feeling of being restrained.

The needle slid in and the fluid inside it bloomed hot under his skin. He started to feel sick and his eyes rolled back in his head. A strange groan, strangled and urgent forced it's way up his throat, followed by a mouthful of acrid tasting foam and the last thing he heard was Racetrack pounding on the door before he couldn't hang on to his last string of consciousness anymore.

His whole body, every cell and molecule in it throbbed heavily as he clawed his way towards the waking world. There was something cold at wet on his face and he wanted to swipe it away but his arms wouldn't move. "That's it," a familiar female voice called. "Fight it off, Eli." He heard his voice wind it's way out of his throat, even more horrible and hoarse than before and the disappointment forced him to make the final push to open his eyes. Of all the people he thought might be there when he woke up, Cici Witten was the last he would have expected. He stared at her blearily, trying to shove away the cobwebs that seemed to have settled over his mind. Looking around, he realized he was back in the attic at St Xavier's school, but he was sure that couldn't be right. She smiled sadly, "If you wanted to commit suicide, I can think of about ninety cheaper, less painful and more effective ways than what you did." Her smile fell to a look of disappointment, the barely contained anger plain on her prominent features. "Why on earth would you let a stranger inject you with something?"

He tried to speak, but nothing understandable fell out and angry tears shoved their way out and down onto his cheeks. 'Need more,' he signed clumsily.

"You need more what, Eli?" Cici pressed and he answered her by miming the injection and holding up 3 fingers. She shook her head. "There can't be any more, Eli. We almost lost you. You were convulsing and your heart stopped. You were gone for a few moments. You can't do that again."

He scoffed and lied back. 'Supposed to. Two more, then fixed.'

She covered her face and he was sure that he was mistaken because he thought he heard a soft sob. "Its a scam, Eli. He won't be there if you go back. We've heard of so many falling for it, thinking he could fix them. He preys on people," she looked up and her dark hazel eyes met his, "sad, desperate people willing to put their faith in anyone who might give them relief from their reality." Ashamed and horrified that she knew just the lengths he would go and called him desperate, he sucked into himself and retreated into the depths of his mind. Cici didn't leave his side, afraid that he would either try to leave or try to finish what the doctor started, but his body was exhausted from the months with too little sleep and the damage it sustained and soon he was asleep.

He slept for days, waking only to eat and drink before falling asleep again before the day came that he woke and felt himself again. His clothes had been washed and were laid out on the chair. He stared at the ratty armchair, willing himself not to remember that it was her chair, but couldn't stop the fond memories from bubbling up. This was the only place in the world he'd ever been really and truly happy, but the thing, the person who made him happy was gone. He dressed quickly and bolted down the stairs to find Cici and tell her he was leaving. Jo's ghost was too strong here, he couldn't stay.

On the main level he checked her office, but it was empty. His next thought was to head down to check the service areas of the school, but a disgruntled scream distracted him. It was a sound that spoke to his own heart because he knew it intimately. He knew the pain behind that yell. It was the same pain that led him to let someone pump him full of poison.

The boy was maybe six. His clothes were clean but his hair was long and tangled. He threw his small body around the closed classroom screaming at the top of his lungs, so engrossed in his tantrum that he didn't notice the large man step in and sit down on the floor to watch him. Eli sat silently, listening to the noises, knowing that the kid couldn't hear him. He stopped mid roar when his eyes fell on the man sitting on the floor, his narrow chest heaving and stared at the newcomer before charging. Eli caught him and held him tight, just like Marta did him the first time they met. Holding the fighting, writhing mass, he felt a bit sick. Kisser would have had his hide for falling for such a scam. Slowly, the fight drained out of the boy and he fell limp in Eli's arms, crying quietly while Eli stroked his hair and let him have his tears. Who was he to say that the kid had nothing to cry about?

The kid cried, sprawled across Eli's lap and it took everything in him not to break down and cry too. The things he wanted were always so far out of his grasp. All he wanted was what came so easily to everyone else, and every time he thought he had it, it was ripped away again. This kid understood that and once his sobs stopped he sat up and regarded Eli warily. He had light brown hair and soft brown eyes that questioned with all the words stuck inside of him. 'What's your name?' Eli signed. 'I'm Eli.' The kid's brows bunched low over his eyes and he gave a hearty shove.

"He doesn't know sign, Eli," Cici said from the door. "It's his first day."

He turned and the boy followed his gaze, letting out a low, hostile yell as he signed his own homemade gestures at Cici. 'He signs,' Eli argued. 'You don't understand, but he signs. He's alone, scared, angry. His mother brought him someplace strange and left him and no one will tell him what's happening.'

"You understand him?" Her eyes looked ready to bug out of her head. "I know you picked up sign quick, Eli but how could you learn his made up language in only a few minutes?"

He scoffed. 'I don't need to know his signs to understand. Look at his face! Its right there!' He turned back to the boy and pointed at him before making a pantomime of being angry. The boy nodded and pointed at Cici. Eli smiled at him and went to the chalkboard at the front of the room, picking up the chalk from the tray of the blackboard and twirling it between his fingers. He drew two stick figures and showed the boy that each picture represented one of them and then wrote his name over the head of his before handing the chalk over and raising his eyebrows expectantly. 'Go on,' he signed, using his own made up signs. 'Tell me. Draw.' The kid snatched the chalk and scrawled all over the board, airing all of the grievances he'd never been able to let out before. 'What's his name?' Eli asked, looking back to Cici.

"Michael," she answered, settling herself at one of the desks.

He cocked his head to the side, 'You're not stopping me.' She grinned and shook her head and didn't say another word. By lunchtime, he had gotten Michael to understand where he was and why. Michael trusted him and understood that he finally had an ally. It took a bit of coaxing to get him to go sit in the dining room with the other students, but finally he went. Eli sat down in a chair, and blew a breath out between his lips.

"Look at you," Cici said, interrupting his thoughts. "So grown and so wise." She watched him carefully waiting for a reaction, but he just stared at her blankly. "You were amazing just now. How did you know what to do?"

He shrugged, the old discomfort at being in the place that he and Jo were happy together settling back in. "He's me. He's me even now, Screaming, waiting for someone to know what it means."

Her face sobered and she reached over to put her hand on his. "That's why you did it?"

He nodded. 'Can't keep screaming in a language no one understands. Need a job. Need to talk to get a job.'

"You must have a job, you had the money to pay that crook."

He glowered at her. 'That took six months working three jobs. No one will hire me like this. I had to get my friends to pull favors for those jobs. Alone, like this, I am nothing. If I stay like this I will always be nothing.'

She winced at his harsh words about himself. "You were never nothing to her. What would she say if she heard that?"

"Jo…nnnnnnnnot d-d-d-ded," he stammered lowly and then signed, 'Don't talk about her like she's dead. She's not. I would know.'

She looked at him curiously. "You talk! You taught yourself?"

"La…..luh….llllllllil bit."

She nodded and went quiet, thinking carefully about her next words. "She once told me that you spoke to her and I thought it was just one of her silly, romantic notions, you speaking to her heart or something like that." She chuckled sadly. "Oh, my girl. I do miss those silly little notions of her's. And the way she'd get an idea and her mouth would just talk and she wouldn't even breathe…I miss all of her. She was the only person in my family who didn't speak poorly of me behind my back. It's such a shame she was born to the family she was. They didn't know what a treasure they had in her." He agreed silently.

'I can't stay,' he signed. 'It hurts.'

She nodded. "It killed me to put you back in that attic. I knew it would hurt, but it was the only spot I had." She gave him a long hard stare. "She would be so proud of you for trying to speak. I am, but there isn't anything wrong with you, Eli." He snorted derisively and turned away, but she put her hand over his. "There isn't. You have more challenges than others, but you aren't sick. You don't need a cure. Especially the kind that crooks like that snake oil salesman pumped you full of. What you need is someone you trust to sit with you and help you figure out what to do with your mouth to make the sound you want. It will be hard work, and you'll get frustrated, but Eli, I will do it if you are willing."

He looked at her cautiously. 'Can't pay. No more money.'

She smirked. "What if I paid you?"

'Why?' he asked. 'Pay me for what?'

The smile that lit up her face reminded him of the old her, the warrior woman who Jo always claimed had a sword in her skirts. She was up for a challenge. "So many of our little ones react the way Michael did just now, and to them, I'm just the woman who tells their poor mothers to go. I'm the bad guy and it takes them ages to trust me and actually start learning. What you did in an hour with Michael normally takes me at least a week and a few times of them trying to run home. If you will agree to come on as a teacher, welcome the new ones and teach them their ABC's in sign and their other basic signs so that they can get around the school, I will pay you in room and board, a small stipend and speech training in the evenings. What do you think?" He furrowed his brow, not liking how much it sounded like charity. She chuckled quietly, "All right, you'll be the all around year one teacher. Reading, writing, arithmetic and sign. They're mine now, but Lord knows I have my hands more than full with the administrative duties. Does that sound better." He gave her a wary look, but then smiled slyly and spat in his palm, holding it out to her. Being a Brooklyn girl herself, she laughed loudly and returned the spit shake. "Good. Your friends brought your things over from your boarding house. I think Racetrack was afraid you weren't going to wake up. He was pretty shook up."

'I need to go thank him,' Trout told her.

"Yes, you should, but first, move your things into your new room in the teacher's dorm." He nodded and she stood, but he pulled her back there was one more thing he needed from her. It was time to let go of the boy screaming in the language no one understood, who could only control whether or not his hair was cut. It was time to put Eliot and even Trout in his past.

An hour later with a fresh, clean and stylish haircut, he opened the large front doors of The Benjamin Hotel where Mush sat at the front desk. The former newsboy's face split into a wide grin as he vaulted over the desk and jumped his old friend. "Boy are you a sight for sore eyes! We was sure you was a goner!"

"T-t-t-tey….t-t-tell mmmmmme," he said quietly, wanting someone to fill in the pieces between when he lost consciousness and what Cici was able to tell him.

"Tell you? Tell you what happened?" Eli nodded. "Well, you'd have to ask Race, but from what he said, that fink put the needle in ya arm, and you was having a fit. The guy ran out so fast and Race was just worried about you. When he couldn't get you to wake up, he paid a couple little kids to go to the Ben to get one of us to help carry you down and one to that school, cause he figured Jo's aunt like you enough to help with a doctor." Mush looked down, his brow crumpling in pain. "You was dead. Not breathing, but Race punched you and then you started again."

"Hhhheeeee pu-puh….hhhhhhhit me?"

Mush grinned. "Sure did! I saw it!"

"Wh-where Rrrrrr….rrrray….sss?"

"Hey, that was pretty good! So, it worked?" Mush asked excitedly, impressed at the improvement in Eli's attempts at speech

"No. Nnnnno mmmmmmmm…..mmmmmmed…"

"Medicine?"

Eli nodded and shot Mudh a grateful look. "Uh huh. Wwwwwwork."

Mush grinned again. "You know you ain't gotta worry about us saying nothing while ya work on it, Trout. Race is on the fourth floor tiling washrooms with Blink. Go on up! They was in 410 last I heard."

He climbed the stairs since the grand elevator was not working and found his old friends quickly. Race glowered at him. "I oughta cream you," he spat. "Did you know that's what he would do?" Eli nodded contritely. Race rocketed off the floor, sending tiles skittering across the floor. "What was you thinking, letting that joker stick a needle in you? You was dead! You was dead and I was alone and didn't know what to do!"

'So you slugged your dead best friend?'

Race scowled, "That ain't funny, Trout! If I hadn't slugged you, you really would be dead!"

Eli nodded and waved his friend closer, slamming his fist into his palm and pointing as his chin. "He's giving you a free shot, Race," Blink said. Race was about to take it, too, but Eli suddenly held out his hand to stop his shorter friend, shooting a naughty smile at Blink as he got down on his knees and then waving Race on. Blink sniggered loudly and Race couldn't help but smile.

"You're a real shit when you wanna be Trout," he said. "You gonna stay and help us with these floors? Or go back to your suicidal work schedule?"

"G-g-got nnnnnnnnew j….ja…..jot…"

"Job," Race corrected. "Another one? Trout, you's hardly sleeping now!"

'Only job,' he signed, and a Race told Blink what he said. 'At the school. Teaching kids like me, so no one else goes to that man.'

A/N: so in Firewatcher's Daughter Carlos mentioned the "Trout Cooper self improvement regiment," and this is what he was referring to. Trout is still my first love.


	14. Chapter 14

Rosie Cooper hardly remembered the life she had before Eli and JoAnna came and took her to the country, but what she did remember was bad enough that she would never risk doing anything that might make them want to send her back there. Not until one particularly hot, end of summer day, at least. Armed with the sweetness of the woman who gave birth to her, the charm of her sire, the determination of the man who raised her and the fight of the woman she called "Mami," she trudged up the hill to the mesa with a large picnic hamper for the men of the family, ready to change the mind of the one man she never wanted to disappoint. At the edge of the meadow, she stopped and set down her heavy cargo and wiped her brow as she watched them all work. Fletcher and Spot hauled the milk jugs, heavy with honey, to the wagon with the hot sun on their bare backs while Will and Jesse turned the crank to spin the internal mechanism of the honey extractor, spinning the combs inside to fast that the wax and honey separated. The boys had their shirts of as well, their shoulders and cheeks red from heat and exertion. Eli, the only man she'd ever considered her father, was over with the hives, carefully pulling the racks out and preparing them and putting new racks into the boxes that they'd already harvested. His wide brimmed hard shaded his brightly colored eyes and dark hair, but it was just felt, no netting hid his face. The bees never stung him; still, he didn't tempt fate and left his shirt on and buttoned. He was so at peace high above the world, in his meadow, with his bees. She hated to ruin that, but she'd run out of time.

She couldn't put it off any longer and hoisted her basket back up onto her hip, waddling the rest of the way up the rutted dirt road to the honey hut. "Uh oh, the girls is sending spies! We must be slowin' down, boys!" Spot catcalled as he stubbed a cigarette on the underside of his boot. A wry grin spread across his sharply featured face and she let loose a small smile back at him. For some reason, even though she referred to Clarice as her cousin and Darcy as her aunt, she never called him Uncle Spot. He was just Spot. That's just how it was. Fletcher had earned himself a title of his own from her. He was Fetch and no one could tell either of them otherwise. "Fetch" winked her way, spreading her smile a little wider below the floppy straw hat shading her eyes from the sun. When she was right in front of them, she set down her wares and pulled the cover off, revealing the spread that Marta, Darcy and Jo sent them. They crowded around, stuffing their hands in, eager to fill their empty bellies, but Eli stayed the course and kept doing what needed to be done. His movements were all careful and calculated, precise but relaxed as he moved within the cloud of insects, calmed by the can of smoke at his side. "Where's that mouthpiece of yours, Ro?" Spot asked after a long draw from a stoneware jug of ginger water. He dragged his arm across his mouth and quirked his parted eyebrow at her.

She shuffled her toe along the dirt, and hid her eyes under her hat. "Cyarey stay at da house."

He frowned, but she wouldn't look at it. She trained her eyes on her father as he slowly waded out of the haze of honeybees. "Do it again," Spot demanded. "Do it again and do it right. Ya mother would have a fit if she heard that." She glared down at her dusty boots, hating the way everyone was always picking at her speech, trying to make it perfect. It was hard to remember everything!

Will sidled up next to her, thirteen years old and nudged her with his elbow. "Just like we practiced. With your tongue out." His gentle, deepening, country twanged voice gave her the push she needed.

She shoved her hat back so it hung behind her on it's ribbon and stared challengingly into Spot's nearly colorless eyes. "Cllllllllllllllllarey," she enunciated with her tongue between her teeth, "stay-ded at thhhhhhhhhhe house." She looked up at him, her green eyes hard. "Told her to stay. Needa talk to Daddo."

He grinned crookedly at her bravery. "Good enough for me kid." She stole another look at the bank of beehives and nearly took off running back down the hill. He was coming, smiling at her and whistling happily. He always whistled when he was having a good day and the whistle days lately outnumbered the quiet days where he only used his hands to talk. She didn't want that to change.

Will stayed by her side. "Go on," he whispered in her ear, giving one of the long chocolate brown braids down her back a tug. "You'll never know if you don't ask him. It can't be that bad." They all took a step back, retreating with their sandwiches to give her and Eli a bit of privacy.

He sauntered up, looking curiously at the others as they tried to keep their eyes down. She smiled at him, forcing her lips to curl and stretch as she handed him a sandwich. "Hi Daddo."

He smiled, tapping her nose before pulling her over under the shade of a big cottonwood tree. He sat down with his back against the trunk and she nestled herself in between his long legs, smiling to herself. She'd loved him since the moment he sat down on the floor with her at the home in New York. No one else had ever sat with her, they all glared down at her like there was something wrong with her. But he came in and sat down and began drawing on a slate. She snuggled in deeper, resting the back of her head on his chest. "S'wrong, Rrrrrosie?" he asked in his quiet way.

She tucked her head and he brushed her cheek with his rough fingers, chuckling at the way she tried to hide. He often told her that Mami did the same thing. "Cllllllairey will go to 'chool tom'ow," she said, swatting at his hand. He chuckled again and unwrapped his sandwich.

"Mmhmm," he murmured, reaching around her to hand over half of his sandwich. The part of her that remembered being hungry wanted to take it, but she knew her own lunch was waiting back in the kitchen. Her braids gently hit his middle as she shook her head. "Wwwwe…we'll sssss'art after the hhhhoney is in."

She stole a glance up at him, knowing that she was about to break his heart. "I yanna go too. To town 'chool."

Immediately, his brows dipped low and pinched together and he chewed on the inside of his bottom lip. "Yeah?" he asked in a low, uncertain rumble. She nodded hopefully and the corner of his mouth lifted. "D-d-d-did you ask Mami ah-al-alrrrrready?"

"She say you." The words tumbled out and she knew they were wrong but could do nothing to stop them. She pushed off of him in frustration and kicked the scrubby grass. "She say to ask you."

He smiled at her proudly before his hand raised to the back of the neck, slowly dragging back and forth. "Lllllllllllemme," his eyes raised to hers as his cheeks flushed a deep red. His mind couldn't focus on the words. The guilty look in his bright eyes told her that he didn't want to be upset by her request, but he was. "Llllllllemme ffffffffinish here. We….we talk llllllllater. At d-d-d-d-dinner." She nodded solemnly and backed away from him, unable to look at how upset she made him. "Rrrrrrro," he stammered pleadingly, but she shook her head and ran over to where the two brothers sat and wedged herself in between them. She stayed there, cocooned by their sticky, sweaty bodies until all the food was gone and everyone needed to get back to work.

Will and Jesse helped her pack up all of the paper and water jugs back into the hamper, keeping her flanked and protected. "He'll come 'round," Will said with a smile as he hoisted up the basket and handed it to her. She pulled her hat up before she took it from him and kept her eyes low, but tried to smile for him, thankful that she had a friend like him who could always make her feel better.

Back at the big house, no one asked Rosie how it went. His answer was written all over her face. Marta grabbed her braids and tied them under her chin, forcing a smile out of her. "Don't you worry, Rosie Posie," she said with a crinkle of her nose. Rosie smiled wider as she was surrounded by a curtain of thick, copper curls and Marta's nose rubbed against hers. "He'll do what's right. Give him a little time to think about it." Rosie nodded and pulled away, but Marta held her tight. "I never saw another boy who wanted to go to school so bad. He'll realize how wrong he would be to keep you from it."

She sighed heavily. "Why he didn't say yes?" she asked. "I can't talk good 'nough yet?"

Marta smiled wide and pressed the girl's soft cheeks between her hands until her lips puckered. "You are talking so well! It's not because you did anything wrong, Sweets, its because he's worried about you. He just needs to let his heart catch up to his head."

"She's right, Love," Mami added, smiling a gentle smile as she tucked a towel into her apron strings. "You're ready and we will make sure you go with the others tomorrow. Daddo will just have to put his feelings aside and let you do what you need to do." Rosie sighed and leaned into her mother's arms. "Come on Love, we all have more work to do."

Rosie and Clarice took care of tidying the three houses and watching the younger children with the mothers jarred up the honey that Will drove down from the mesa. Five year old Teddy wanted nothing more than to be one of the big boys and was steadfastly attempting to clean the barn like he'd seen his older brothers do while three year old Cooper, two year old Rusty and nearly two year old Caroline toddled around, chasing butterflies and playing. Clarice tried to entice Rosie to play with their dolls or skipping rope once their work was done, but Rosie refused. She couldn't play until she knew what her father was going to do.

Clairey plunked down next to her on the front steps of the big house with the torn knees of her stockings exposed. "If he don't let you go, I ain't going either. We stick together."

Even though it was a nice thought, Rosie shook her head. "No, you go to 'chool, Cyarey." She looked deep into her best friend's eyes. "I yanna you to go."

Clarice stomped her booted little foot and scowled. "I don't wanna go without you! It ain't fair! Uncle Eli can't split us up! We do everything together! Alway have!"

"You don't owe it to him to stay here just because he likes teaching you, Ro," Aunt Darcy said, sitting down on her other side. But she was wrong. Rosie owed him everything. At seven, she still knew that she was different. She knew that no one else would have adopted her and that she'd be in a hospital, wasting away if he hadn't come. He was the only one who understood her and she repaid him by telling her she didn't want to stay with him. Her breath caught in her throat and she was up and on her feet, running up the hill.

She didn't stop until she could see him, sitting on the bench seat of the wagon, ready to drive the latest load of honey down to the house. At the sound of her pounding feet and gasping for breath, he hopped down and ran to her, meeting her halfway. She launched herself into him, her arms gripping tightly around his middle. He held her as she blubbered and cried into his stomach. "Ro?" he asked, hoisting her up to his hip. She wrapped her arms and legs around him, burying her face in the curve of his thick neck and strong shoulder.

She begged him not to take her back to the orphanage, that she'd be good and stay with him, but in her panic, she was completely incoherent. With great difficulty, he fought the weak muscles in his other arm to get his hand up high enough to tip up her chin as she shushed her tenderly. "D-d-don't c-c-cry," he pleaded. "T-tell me."

"I stay! I stay here! I don't go 'chool! Don't make me yeave!" He smoothed her hair back and kissed her forehead, starting back down the hill with her still in his arms. He didn't say anything to the others. He didn't even give them a backwards glance, as if she was the only thing that mattered because, in that moment, she was.

Clairey stood on the steps still with her hands on her straight little hips and fire blazing in her icy eyes. He set Rosie on her feet, but she still clung to him, terrified to let him out of her sight. "Not nnnnow, B-b-buttercup," he said, trying to move past the tiny blonde in front of him. Everywhere he moved, she planted herself in front of him. He growled at her in frustration. 'I need Jo-Jo!' he signed gruffly after prying his good hand out of Rosie's grasp.

"Don't you growl at me, Mister!" the petite seven year old snapped. "You're the one causing trouble!" He stopped, his hand coming to rest on Rosie's head. "You made her cry! And no one makes her cry around me!" She was as fierce as Spot himself, back in the day. "Her and me, we're going to school tomorrow with the boys and there's nothing you can do to stop us! Right, Rosie?"

Rosie peeked up at him, "I don't yanna make Daddo sad. I stay. You go, Cyarey."

He dropped to his knees in front of her, instinctively reaching up to push his hair back, knocking his hat to the dusty earth. 'I don't need you to stay for me. You're ready. You need to go with the others in the morning. I was coming to tell you." She stared into his eyes. Besides little quips and teases, we wasn't one to waste words on jokes, but she couldn't believe him, not after the heartache she saw in those depths earlier. She shook her head, but he stopped her. 'You're going.' His face was stoney and serious. 'I'll be here when you get back. Go make sure you have a clean dress." He gave her a gentle shove towards their little house on the opposite side of the big house as Spot and Darcy's. She took a few steps before he stammered, "Aaaaaand Ro?" She stopped and turned, looking back at him. "Nnnnnnnnothing will mmmmmake me take you b-b-back." Her eyes widened as the met with his again and he stared at he deeply. "Thhhhhis is your home. Wwwwe are ffffffamily. Nnno t-take backs." She ran back to him, nearly knocking him over with the sheer force of her affection.

"P'omise?"

"I p-pro-promise," he growled in her ear and every cell in her body relaxed against him as she sighed in relief. She was going to school. Like a normal kid. She couldn't wait.

A/N: Skits won't talk to me, but Rosie is a chatterbox...so I finally typed up this little blurb. There will be a second part, sooner if Skits decides he wants to keep wallowing in self pity or later if he decides to move on with his chapter of FWD.


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